ABC or 26 Ways to Whump Charlie
by lauTOre
Summary: A series of stand-alone short stories all involving Charlie getting hurt and/or into trouble in one way or another.
1. Arrested

Alright, 3 things to know about this:

1) It says "26 Ways to Whump Charlie", so you'll have to expect some sort of Charlie-whump (surprising, I know), which – at least with me – usually comes along with Don-angst, so there won't be much variety in these stories emotion-wise. And since not even our poor math genius can be _that_ unlucky, these 26 ways aren't meant to occur all in the same universe. Just consider them possibilities of what might happen.

2) It says "26 Ways to Whump Charlie", but please don't take it literally (or should that be numerically…?). I probably won't get all the way to Z, but I just have so many story ideas floating around in my head that I decided I had to get rid of them somehow – fast. So, here you are, a lot of one-shots with stuff that could fill stories if one only had the time.

3) English is not my native language. I'll try my best and I'm hoping that the errors I'm bound to make aren't too blatant and repellant to keep you from reading. In any case I'm always open to corrections (grammatically or otherwise).

Enough with the preliminaries, let's start with A! This was actually part of a story I had already started, so it's quite long and was intended to be even longer with more plot twists and a lot more whumping, so just imagine the rest ;) The next ones will be shorter.

 **Disclaimer:** Numb3rs doesn't belong to me.  
 **Timeline:** Let's say season 3, shall we?

* * *

 **Arrested**

"We should check if he has any links to any kind of mafia," Don said, looking down at the unfortunate victim. His ID said he was 41, but his face and his whole body for that matter were so bashed up that Don would have had a hard time to determine that otherwise. The crime scene unit had just finished the rest of the room and they were just about to loosen the ropes that kept the dead Dr. Mark Averell bound to the wooden chair he was sitting on so that he could be transported from the motel room to the morgue. "This looks a lot like their kind of handiwork." He looked up at Colby who was examining the victim's phone. "Anything on his cell that points in that direction?"

"Not yet," Colby muttered. "But I'm just getting started."

That was true. He couldn't know however how soon he would find something of significance. He had just opened the record of the victim's latest contacts, and stopped short. He frowned and took his own cell out to check the number, for this had to be some weird coincidence, right?

As it turned out, it wasn't.

"Don?" Colby still had the frown on his face. This _was_ something of significance, no doubt about it. But there was also no doubt in his mind that Don would not be glad to hear the news he was bearing.

"Found something already?"

Colby nodded, wondering how he was going to tell him. "It's the record of recent contacts."

"What, somebody on there we know?"

Colby nodded. He knew Don was talking about known _criminals_ , that he thought that in the records he had found the number of an infamous mafia boss or a notorious small-time criminal, but he certainly hadn't meant something like _that_.

"It's Charlie."

Don looked at him with confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Charlie's the last person the victim called."

* * *

When they approached his office, they could hear the wild and furious click-clack of chalk on the board even through the closed door. As usual, Don opened it while knocking and saw his brother standing at the blackboard, scribbling. This time, however, his brother didn't finish his thought as he usually did, but flinched violently at the noise.

"Don! Geez, you startled me."

"No kidding," Don answered and tried to smile, but the situation was too grave for him to succeed.

"Hey, David," Charlie greeted him as an afterthought before turning towards both of them. "What's going on? You got a new case?"

Don nodded, wondering how he should approach the subject. Not that he hadn't pondered the question on the way here – he had been hardly able to think of anything else –, but his musings had come to no conclusion.

"Look, you know I'm always happy to help you," Charlie said, "but I'm kind of in the middle of something here and it might take me a couple of days to finish it."

Don nodded and watched his brother intently. He hated himself for it, but he realized he was automatically looking for signs that Charlie was hiding something. Maybe he wouldn't have done that, at least not before telling him what had happened, if his brother hadn't given him so much to work with. But the fact was, he _had_ flinched violently at their entrance, and he _was_ talking much too fast, with too nervous an energy. And Don also wondered if it had ever happened before that Charlie had refused his help so promptly. But then again, maybe he _was_ just busy, maybe he had been working all night, and probably he was working on too much caffeine. No, he was just seeing what he saw because he was eying Charlie as a witness, not as his brother, he was sure of it.

Or almost sure.

"I'm afraid we can't take 'no' for an answer this time," he said and realized how solemn his voice sounded. But then again, he didn't know how well Charlie knew the victim and how hard he would take his death. Charlie generally had a hard time dealing with change, and death was a pretty definite form of it. But there was no way he could spare Charlie that. "We need you as a witness."

He saw Charlie frown instantly. "A witness?"

"Yes." He exchanged a look with David, secretly hoping he would take the lead, for he himself had still no idea how to approach the subject.

It worked. "Charlie," David said, "do you know someone named Mark Averell?"

Don instantly knew why he had taken David with him. The man was just someone who never lost his professionalism, and neither his calm. Plus, his calm demeanor was usually contagious.

Charlie stared at him. What should he say? Could they know something, anything about their… connection? But they came here, asking him as a witness…

"He's a friend of mine," he finally said, fervently hoping that Mark hadn't told or wouldn't tell them something different.

He saw David exchange another one of those solemn looks with his brother. Something was obviously going on. But why wouldn't they say? "What?"

Don looked at him intensely, earnestly, and said: "I'm very sorry, Charlie, but Mark Averell is dead."

The words rang in Charlie's ears and for some time – was it a second? Or a minute? He couldn't tell – for some time his mind was simply empty. He didn't understand, didn't _want_ to understand, and just stood there staring into his brother's dark eyes. Then the words sank in, and slowly, very slowly, the realization of their significance, of what they _really_ meant, began to dawn on him.

"I don't understand," he said, and it was true. He needed to understand, though, he needed to know what was going on in order to decide what to do.

"I'm sorry, Charlie," Don repeated. "He was killed last night."

"Killed?" Charlie swallowed. "By whom?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," said David while Don examined his brother's appearance. Charlie had reacted with a kind of shock that had to be genuine, there was no way his brother could fake that, and Don hated himself for feeling a wave of relief go through him. So things lay as it had been clear all along: Charlie didn't know anything about the murder, he was not connected to it in any way.

So why had he been the last person the victim had called?

"We found out that he called you last night," he heard David say. "What was that about?"

Charlie didn't answer at once. He seemed a bit shaky, so Don was rather relieved when he let himself sink into a chair. He watched him shake his head, gazing intently into nothing, obviously still trying to process the news. "It was just a social call," he said with a strange, toneless voice. It had become hoarse, too, Don noticed. "He just wanted to know how I was doing."

Again, the two agents exchanged solemn look before David spoke again. "And that took you less than a minute?"

Charlie didn't answer at once and when he did, he directed his words at the desk in front of him. "He asked me to come over. To… chat."

The look that the agents exchanged now wasn't solemn anymore, but rather confused. Alarmed. True, Charlie's two statements about the phone call didn't exclude each other, but still, it was odd that he hadn't said right away that Averell had asked him to meet. Why wouldn't he just say that right away? Unless, of course, he had something to hide…

David shook his head. He couldn't imagine for the world that Charlie had anything to do with Averell's death. He also knew, however, that he had to remain objective. He couldn't dismiss facts just because of his own ideas what could and could not have happened the night before. Maybe Charlie knew something that could help them solve the case, maybe he didn't even realize what he knew. Dismissing facts or shunning away from considering certain theories would only make it so much harder to get to the truth of it all.

"So, did you meet him?" he finally asked.

Charlie nodded, still addressing the desk. "I went to his motel room at around 4:30. He has temporarily moved out of the apartment he shares with his wife, you know. We talked for almost an hour. Then I left."

David nodded. They had already established that Averell's marriage was apparently at a pretty tight spot at the moment. He had started renting the motel room where they'd found his body roughly a week before. "Did you see anybody else there? Maybe outside the motel?"

Charlie shook his head.

"Did he mention to you that he was going to meet with anyone else that evening?"

Another shake of the head.

"'No', he didn't mention it, or 'no', he didn't meet with anyone else?"

It took Charlie a moment to answer and when he did, his voice was low and raspy. "He didn't mention it."

"Alright… so where did you go after you met with him?"

David was sure to notice some hesitation before Charlie answered his question, but then again, that could also be due to the fact that he realized that his friend was asking for his alibi. "I came here, to CalSci. I had to finish grading some papers."

David nodded, then looked up at his boss, not sure how to continue the interview. Should he ask more questions about what Charlie had noticed at his visit? Then again, Charlie wasn't the most observant person in the world. Even if there had been some strange events or persons or whatever, he was probably unaware of them. Still, they should ask Megan to do a cognitive interview with him to help him remember, for the coroner had placed the time of death between six and eight in the evening.

But for now, he thought it wiser to find out more about Charlie's connection to the victim. If Don wasn't okay with that, he could still step in. For now, however, he seemed quite comfortable with his silent, earnest role of the observer.

"So… what did you two talk about?"

Charlie shrugged, eyes still fixed on the wooden structure of the desk. "Work, mostly. Mark specializes in all kinds of computer software. We were thinking about developing a program together."

David frowned. "I thought you were meeting socially."

That finally got him a wry smile. "With me, those two usually intersect. Private stuff and work, I mean."

David nodded. That made sense, at least in Charlie's case. "So what was that program about?" Maybe someone had killed Averell for his work?

Charlie shook his head. "Some new kind of search engine. It was more on a whim than anything else, really."

"Alright… Anything else that comes to mind? Anything suspicious, anything he said, anything you saw?"

Charlie shook his head.

"Alright." David stood and looked at Don, a bit uncertain. He didn't really like what they had learned so far, but he also wasn't sure how far he could push Charlie right now. He had just learned about a friend's death, after all, and he did have a certain history of emotional instability.

Don seemed to think the same thing. "Alright, buddy," he said very quietly. "Thanks." He gave Charlie's upper arm a little squeeze and said: "Take care." When Charlie nodded, they left the room with every intent to make some sense of this whole mess.

* * *

As the investigation moved along, it became apparent just how deeply Charlie had gotten himself into trouble. Initially, it had seemed as though Averell's wife might have had something to do with his murder. After all, the marriage didn't seem to be blossoming. However, apart from the MO that didn't really fit a wife, Sheila Averell had a pretty tight alibi, she'd gone out with colleagues after work and everyone she'd been with, including some waiters, had been able to confirm that she hadn't left the restaurant until 9:30. Now, she wasn't only innocent, but she had also a very definite idea of who might have killed her husband. Bad thing: she accused Charlie of it.

It wasn't what Megan had been expecting when she conducted the witness interview with Sheila Averell and asked her the standard question if she could think of anyone who might have done that. Instead of a standard answer like 'No, everyone liked him', Sheila had been ready to attack. "It was his new friend, Charlie Eppes. He's a professor of some sort here in L.A."

Megan tried hard not to show any emotion, but to keep her professional stance. "What makes you think that?"

"He was afraid of him. And he was always so secretive! Before he knew him, everything was fine between us, but then he withdrew completely. And every time he said he had to meet with that Eppes guy, he had that look in his eyes. I tell you, he was terrified!"

"So why did he meet him?"

Sheila bit her lip. "I don't know. I suspected maybe he blackmailed him? But normally Mark would never do that! It's just… ever since they met, he's been so… different."

"Do you know where they met? And when?"

"It was some kind of conference. It lasted five days, Monday to Friday, about… yes, three weeks ago."

Megan nodded and she, too, bit her lip. It was true, Charlie had been gone during that time. He'd changed, too. She hadn't thought much of it before, but now she realized he'd been a little bit more jumpy than he'd already been. There'd been a lot of nervous energy, but she'd thought it was just the stress of whatever he was working on. That happened from time to time, after all, Charlie often consulted on projects that were beyond classified.

"Alright, thank you, Mrs. Averell, you've been a great help." She forced herself to smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Please stay available for us."

* * *

They just couldn't catch a break. Apart from Mrs. Averell's statement, the crime scene investigators hadn't found anything that could be interpreted in favor of Charlie. They'd found his DNA on a glass on the coffee table and some other DNA samples they hadn't been able to identify yet. But it was a motel room, after all, and what mattered was that none of the DNA samples pointed towards any other criminal.

Worst of all: Charlie's alibi hadn't checked out. He'd told them he had left Averell's motel room at about 5:30 and then gone to CalSci. Problem was: he hadn't arrived at CalSci until 8 o'clock that evening. The security video from CalSci's parking lot confirmed that beyond a doubt. So Charlie had _lied_ to them about his whereabouts during the time of the murder… what the hell was going on here?

Don ran his hands through his hair, not for the first time. He was sitting at his desk and tried desperately to think of something he could do, something other than question their most viable suspect. He couldn't think of anything.

"Alright," he sighed, and the concerned looks his three team members exchanged went completely unnoticed by him. "You should bring him in."

* * *

Outside, in the CalSci Parking lot, David and Colby stared miserably through the windshield.

"Alright," David finally said, "I guess there's no other way. Will you do the honor?"

Colby stared at him, then shook his head with conviction. "No way. You're the senior agent, as you never get tired of pointing out, that'd be your job."

"Well, I _am_ the senior agent, so if I tell you to do it, you have to follow my order."

"Really? You'll order me? Man, I thought we were friends?"

David sighed. "Straws?" he finally suggested. He hated his own diplomacy when, few seconds later, he drew the short straw. "Damn," he muttered under his breath, then sighed again. "Come on, let's get it over with."

As usual, Charlie's office door was open, but today, it wasn't the sound of chalk on blackboards that emanated from the room, but the sound of keystrokes on a computer. But as usual, that didn't keep the two agents from stepping in while knocking lightly at the open door. Quite out of the usual, however, they hesitated as they drew nearer, neither one sure how to do this nor willing to do it at all.

Charlie, still blessedly ignorant of what was in store for him, hit a few final keys on his laptop, then closed it and lifted his head to smile at his visitors. "Hey, what's up?"

He sounded pleasant enough, but David couldn't help but notice that the smile was less genuine than usual, more strained, and there was definitely some sad emotion in Charlie's eyes. But then again, he _had_ just lost a friend, there was nothing suspicious about this kind of behavior.

 _And why would there be_ , an angry voice inside his head shouted. _He has nothing to hide!_ The defiant voice was drowned however – and somewhat incomprehensibly – by a much quieter one: _You don't know that. Keep an open mind. You can't just make those kind of premises, that's what Charlie would tell you._

Right. Maybe that would be David's defense when Charlie protested at what was about to come.

"Hey, Charlie," he said, feeling unaccountably nervous. What the hell was he supposed to say? Alright, it wasn't like this was the first time he had to give someone the speech. But this was definitely different. "You, uh… You have to come with us."

"Right now?" The smile was still on his face, but David noticed a wariness that had crept into Charlie's eyes.

"Yeah, Charlie, now, we're sorry." David's head jerked towards his partner at Colby's words. David had been sure that his partner was only too glad to leave him the lead on this one. The fact that he was joining the conversation and thus helping him on his nasty assignment made him feel touched.

Charlie rose slowly and looked them both in the eyes, first Colby, then David. "May I ask what this is about?"

"Yeah, sure." David had to clear his throat. "The fact is…" And again. "We're here to arrest you. You're suspected to be linked to the murder of Doctor Mark Averell." So. That was that. The hardest part was done. David continued with the Miranda rights, but somehow, that didn't make things any better. Charlie was still standing there before them, waiting silently, with a look on his face that David couldn't put a name on. It was definitely not what he'd expected, he had expected shock, surprise, probably hurt or disappointment, maybe anger. There was none of that there. The only thing he could discern for certain was sadness.

"Could you please put your hands out in front of you?" By now David had hardly any voice left and was clearing his voice almost constantly. "We'll have to cuff you."

Charlie complied wordlessly while David fumbled with his cuffs with fingers that seemed as reluctant as his voice to comply with the task.

It was finally Colby who couldn't hold himself back any longer. "Look, Charlie, we're sorry, it's not like we have a choice here!" he blurted out. "It's just procedure, we have to make sure we play this by the book."

Charlie's voice was calm when he responded. "Did Don send you?"

"Yeah Charlie, but he doesn't have a choice, either! It's just that we have too much circumstantial evidence to ignore it, if Don hadn't made us arrest you, the A.D would have had his head. And his badge, probably."

David was done with the cuffs and now that Charlie was finished with watching the procedure, he turned his eyes up to look Colby directly in the eye. "Don't worry. I understand."

"Look, this is really just procedure. You'll probably be back out tonight."

"I told you. I understand. Don't worry about it."

Colby sent an uneasy glance toward his partner. Somehow, hearing those words didn't made him lose his worry, but increase it.

* * *

When they arrived at headquarters, Don stood up from his desk so immediately that he must have eyed the elevator constantly. He emanated nervousness, obviously expecting Charlie would be upset. He didn't even recognize the curious glances the other agents threw in their direction, but with a short and subdued greeting instantly pulled Charlie gently over to one of the interrogation rooms.

As soon as the door had closed behind them, he started to defend himself, though he had difficulty looking his brother in the eyes. "Look, Charlie, I'm sorry we have to do this –"

"No," Charlie interrupted him, and now Don just _had_ to look at him. "Don't be. I understand."

Don licked his lips nervously and sat down at the table across from Charlie. "Look, we'll get this all sorted out, alright?" He swallowed. "Have you already asked for your phone call?"

Charlie was smiling sadly. "You're going to record that, right?"

Don frowned. What kind of question was that, anyway? "Of course."

"Then no, thanks."

Okay, what was happening? His brother might be a bit confused right now, he'd grant him that, but he still had to be able to think logically, right? "Charlie – I said we would sort everything out, and we will. But you might still need a lawyer."

Charlie's quiet voice was making him even more nervous. "I'll pass. Thanks."

Something was definitely not going as it should. What was going on in Charlie's mind? His actions made no sense. Unless he was hiding something, that is. But… he had to realize that anything he was hiding was irrelevant compared to the charges he was facing, right?

"Okay, Charlie, here's how this works. You're gonna tell me _exactly_ how you and Averell met, what your connection was and what happened last night. And you're gonna tell me fast. I don't know how long I can stay on this case. As soon as the A.D. finds out you're a suspect, he'll give the case to someone else. You got that?"

Charlie's voice was quiet and he didn't look at him when he answered. "So why are you so keen on keeping this case? Just hand it over to someone else."

His brother must have lost his mind. "Charlie! Someone else might not know that you're innocent! Do you have any idea what they're gonna do? They'll tear your life apart. We have to figure out what happened to Averell before they can do that! So what do you know about him? Who might have done this?"

"I don't know."

"Charlie, you're gonna have to do better than that." He sighed deeply. His little brother really wasn't helping. "Alright. You told us you left Averell at around 5:30 and came straight back to CalSci, right?"

Charlie looked up at him, but didn't say a word.

"Damn it, Charlie, why did you lie to us?! We know you weren't at CalSci until 8 that evening! So where were you?"

Charlie was silent.

"Talk to me, buddy."

He didn't.

A bitter laugh – one that sounded quite hysterical – escaped from Don's throat. "Charlie, look, I wanna help you, but you have to talk to me!"

That finally made Charlie's head come up and look at Don. That look, however, was one that made Don almost tumble over. There was a graveness in those eyes that made shudders run down his spine. "Let me be clear on this," Charlie said slowly, his voice firm. "I don't want your help. I do _not_ want you to treat me in any special way just because I'm your brother."

It had to be the tone, but all of a sudden, Don was no longer merely confused; he was scared. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I don't want you to protect me. And I especially don't want you to risk ruining your career over this. So if you find I'm guilty, just do what you normally do. Detain me, hand me over to a judge, and let them handle the rest."

"Charlie…" His throat was suddenly dry and that reflected in a more than hoarse voice. "What are you trying to tell me? Did you… did you kill this man?" He couldn't have, it just wasn't possible, but then, why was he acting this way?

"I'm not saying anything else."

Before Don could try to talk some sense into him, the door whooshed open and a clean-shaven, middle-aged man in an obviously expensive suit entered with Colby on his heels.

"Don, this is –"

"My name is Harrison Malloway," the man interrupted him, stretching his hand out towards Don. "I'm Dr. Eppes's lawyer."

Don looked from the lawyer to Charlie and back, confusion written all over his face. "Who called you? I know for a fact that it wasn't Charlie, so if you don't want to get deep into trouble, you're gonna show me your credentials."

"Don –"

"Nice and slow!" he added, ignoring his brother.

"Don!" Well, seemed like he wouldn't comply with being ignored. Don finally turned his attention back to him, though still making sure from out of the corners of his eye that the alleged lawyer wouldn't do something hinky. "Don, it's okay. This _is_ my lawyer."

"But –"

"You should probably leave us alone now. You know, adhering to regulations and stuff."

Don just stared at him, his mouth open. When had his brother become this calm, determined stranger? Yeah, okay, he was more than self-reliant when he was talking about math, be it in front of a full auditory of students or in front of hardened FBI agents. And from what Don had noticed on several occasions – presentations of math awards, gala dinners and the kind – his brother also appeared remarkably at ease around important people – politicians and high-ranking business-men, people that tended to intimidate even Don. But this? This wasn't math-related in any way, and the task wasn't just having polite small-talk for a couple of hours. This was about Charlie's future, possibly his _life_.

How could he be so calm about that?

He looked at Colby for help, but should have known it was a lost cause. Colby shook his head. "I checked his credentials, Don. He's legit."

He sighed deeply, closed his eyes and gave Charlie one last look. "You're sure about that?"

"I'm sure."

"Alright. We'll be waiting right outside."

* * *

"You know, it's probably a good thing," Megan said when they were assembled in Don's cubicle, just a few steps away from the door to the interrogation room where Charlie conversed with his lawyer.

Colby agreed. "Yeah, you said yourself that he should have a lawyer present. Plus, that lawyer can probably make the kid realize that it's in his best interest to tell us what's going on, so we can finally get somewhere in this mess."

"Yeah", David chimed in, "but if we can't establish Charlie's innocence soon, we'll have to think about what to do next. I mean, you can't keep this from the A.D. forever, Don."

Don just stared at him. "You want me to hand off the case to someone else?"

"I'm just saying –"

"Do me a favor, David, just keep your mouth shut." Megan and Colby exchanged a glance over David's head and silently agreed to let Don have his way for now, at least until Charlie's lawyer came back out. Seemed like a lost cause to try to talk sense into him anyway.

"You'll see," Don started again with more conviction in his voice than he actually felt, "as soon as they're done talking in there, Charlie's gonna tell us what he knows and then we'll be able to get to the bottom of this."

Megan bit his lip, wavering in her decision to postpone the necessary discussion. _Especially_ if they had a lead that Charlie's statement provided them with, they should step down due to being biased. In any case, Charlie would have to stay detained until his name was cleared.

Just then, the lawyer emerged from the interrogation room and Don was on his feet in an instant. Malloway eyed him coolly. "My client has assured me that he has told you everything there is to tell, so we'd be very obliged to you if you stopped harassing him."

Don, stunned, wanted to interject, but Malloway wouldn't let him. "In the meanwhile, I'm going to inform your superiors of the situation. I think it's hardly appropriate that you would investigate your own brother's case, don't you think?"

Before Don could say anything to that, the lawyer had turned away and was making his way towards the elevators.

"Well, shit," he cursed softly. Then he turned around to his team. "Go over everything we've got once again, see if we missed anything."

Knowing there was no point in arguing, they nodded and set to their task.

* * *

This was never going to work, and to make things worse, time was running against them. As soon as Charlie's lawyer would have had a chance to talk with the A.D., Don's team would be pulled off the case and there would be nothing he could do.

Well, at least not officially.

He slipped through the door and peeked into the observation room to make sure it was empty. Then he sat down at the table in the interrogation room again, stopped the recording, moved the microphone that was sitting between them some distance away, and leaned forward, as close toward his brother as he could.

"This is it, buddy," he said urgently, but kept his voice low, just to be sure. "As soon as your lawyer returns, I'll be off the case, and they won't let me talk to you again." Charlie's head was still bent down, but he had raised his eyes to meet his brother's gaze, so Don knew he was listening. "Look, I know you're scared, but I can help you. Nobody's listening right now, this is completely between us. Now off the record, what's going on here?"

Charlie lifted his head a bit, holding his intense gaze into Don's eyes. As easy as it usually was – especially for Don – to read his younger brother's expressions, this time, he couldn't for the life of him decipher what was going on inside that head. Would Charlie trust him enough to confide in him? And if not, then what the hell was Don going to do?

 _Please, Charlie, please,_ he prayed silently, fervently. _Please just tell me why you're doing this…_ He wouldn't be able to use that testimony, that was true, but at least he would have something to go on, something to put him into the right direction so that maybe he could find further evidence to corroborate Charlie's story. _You just have to tell me…_

"Off the record?" Don's heart made a leap at the sound of the low, slightly raspy voice. "Promise?"

Charlie's eyes were still inscrutable, there was only one thing he could discern in that look: fear. Damn it, he just had to help him, no matter the cost, no matter how dangerous this situation was. "Promise," he replied in as low a voice as before, and it astounded him not a little that it could be heard over the rapid beating of his heart.

"Alright," came Charlie's voice over the table, quietly, tonelessly. He had bowed his had back down some degrees, but was still locking eyes with Don. His eyes now held not only something frightened, but also, as Don was shocked to notice, something frightening. But at least he would know now what was going on, at least –

"I did it."

Don was sure he had misunderstood. That would be more than comprehensible, for all of a sudden, something was wrong, very wrong with his senses. There was a ringing sensation in his ears, and also his sight wasn't as steady as he was used to. He fought his way back to Charlie's eyes, to those dark, quiet and suddenly so unsettling eyes.

"What?" His voice was barely a whisper. This wasn't happening, he just couldn't –

"I did it. I killed Averell."

The ringing sensation was still there, but Don was quite sure he had heard right, although that raised more questions than it answered.

"I don't believe you," he managed, although his voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper. It was the truth, however – he _didn't_ believe him, he would never believe, never allow himself to believe, that Charlie was capable of… It just couldn't be true.

But then why had he said it?

"Why are you lying?"

Both Charlie's gaze and his voice seemed steady enough when he answered, maybe there was a slight tremble in them, but then, Don didn't trust his senses enough to be sure right now. "I'm not lying. I killed him."

Suddenly there was a loud noise, and it took Don a moment to realize he had caused it himself by slamming his hand on the table. "Stop it, now!" he hissed, and it was all he could do to keep his voice down. "That doesn't make any sense! Why on earth would you do something like that?"

Charlie seemed completely unperturbed by Don's outburst. Or had the trembling increased? "I can't tell you why. But I told you I did it. There's nothing you can do for me, Don. I appreciate your efforts, but you should really stay down now. I don't want you to get into trouble, especially not because of me."

Don couldn't help it. Tears were pressing against the back of his eyes, and he couldn't help it that at least some of them were spilled. "But… Charlie…" He noticed the desperation that had crept into his voice, but couldn't ban it. "If they convict you, you'll… damn it, Charlie, it's either life in prison or the death row!"

The tears were coming in earnest now and Don tried impatiently to wipe them off his face. He had to stay strong, for Charlie. Or did he? Charlie seemed so unbelievingly calm, in spite of everything…

Well, he thought bitterly, maybe there was still hope for him to be declared clinically insane.

Don buried his face in his hands and tried to take deep breaths. He had to calm down. He had to calm down. This wasn't over yet. There had to be _something_ he could do for his brother, something…

He felt a hand on his arm and his head jerked upwards, just to look into Charlie's solemn eyes. Now, he could finally see emotion in them – sorrow, regret, and… what was that? Compassion? He thought he could still see fear somewhere amongst it all, but that wasn't what lay on the surface now.

"I'm sorry," he heard his little brother's voice and finally, Charlie's eyes became moist, too. "Tell Dad I never meant to put him through that. And… and I'm sorry for doing this to you. It must be awfully embarrassing." He swallowed and looked down at the table. "You should go now. They wouldn't be too excited if they saw us talking privately. You should just keep your head down and let everything go its due course. There's nothing you could do anyway."

Don just stared at him, his vision still a bit blurry through the tears. "Charlie –"

"I mean it, Don. Stay out of this. You'd only destroy yourself by trying to help me, and you can't do that." He swallowed again and his voice came out less steadily at his next words. "Dad will need you."

The sentence brought Don back into the present and stopped his much too graphic musings about the future. He couldn't break down now. He had to keep his head in the game, had to exude strength, for all of them. He had to keep his family together.

He ran his hands over his face, wiping both the tears and the desperate expression away. Then he was back. Well, as much back as could be expected under the circumstances.

"Alright, Charlie," he said, recognizing with a bitter sense of satisfaction that his voice sounded much stronger now, much more determined. "Just hang in there, alright?" He stood and put a hand that he hoped was comforting on Charlie's shoulder. His brother was right, there was nothing he could do here, at least not as long as Charlie was determined on keeping him out of the investigation. Investigating wasn't all he could do, though. Charlie would need them, sooner or later. Especially if he wound up in prison. "Whatever happens, I'm here. If there's anything I can do, just tell me, I'll do whatever I can. You can count on me, Charlie, I mean it. I'm not going let you down. I promise."

Charlie smiled, but it was a sad smile and now the tears had broken free. "Thank you," he whispered. "You're the best brother in the world, you know that?" The smile widened a bit and an almost playful glint crept into his eyes. "Now get out of here."

And so, squeezing Charlie's shoulder one last time, Don left him alone in the interrogation room, about to be questioned, tried and convicted for murder.

* * *

There was a number of reasons why Don was reluctant to leave the FBI building, his brother being unable to do so because he was spending the night in a holding cell being one of them. After his A.D. had come down to inform him in no uncertain ways that he and his team were off the case and that he should better hope the team that would be investigating Charlie's case now would find nothing wrong with his investigation so far, he'd felt as helpless as probably never before in his life. There was something he could do, however, something he _had_ to do even, although his stomach turned at the thought of having to perform this task.

His childhood home, usually welcoming with a warm and comforting atmosphere, stood before him in the darkness like a menacing monster. After talking to Charlie, he had avoided his team's conversation, not knowing how he would deal with them and with the new knowledge he possessed. He had promised Charlie that what he told him was off the record, he had assured him that there was no one else listening, so it wasn't his place to share his secret with his co-workers. Anyway, he wasn't sure how they would react. Sure, they were amiable enough with Charlie, but would their loyalty extend to fighting for a murderer? And yet, if they continued to help him look for evidence in Charlie's favor, to try and clear his name, didn't they deserve to know what he knew?

Maybe the problem was that Don still couldn't get his head around what Charlie had confessed to him. If he hadn't heard Charlie speak the words himself, he wouldn't believe it, in fact, before today he had would have had committed anyone who would have suggested that Charlie would be able of purposefully hurting anyone, let alone kill someone.

Don groaned and buried his head in his hands, still sitting behind the steering wheel of his SUV. It had been several hours and he still hadn't made up his mind. He knew he would spend most part of the night awake and when morning came he probably wouldn't be any wiser. But that wasn't even the biggest problem – or at least it wasn't the problem at hand right now. The problem at hand lurked inside that big old house with its deceiving welcoming atmosphere, a quiet, happy atmosphere that Don was about to destroy. Don knew that if he sat here much longer, he would lose himself in his dark thoughts and then he might very well lose the fight against the tears. So he pulled himself together with an effort and headed for the front door.

He had hardly opened the door when his father's slightly irritated voice floated towards him from the kitchen.

"Charlie? You're late again! I was just about to put the leftovers in the fridge."

"Hey, Dad, it's me."

His father emerged from the kitchen, drying his hands with a dish towel. "Donnie! What a nice surprise! If your brother doesn't show up soon, you can have those leftovers. Would serve him right."

"He won't be home for dinner tonight." He saw a look of concern wash over his father's face and hastened to say: "He's at the FBI." _Not in the hospital. Not dead._

Now concern made way for confusion. "He's still there and you're not? What's going on?"

Don sighed. "Let's sit?"

Alan ignored him thoroughly. "Donald Alan Eppes, what's going on?"

So Don sat down himself, both because he was hoping to instill the same behavior into his father and because he didn't trust his own legs right now. It worked. But now, there was no way he could stall any further. This was the moment of truth.

"Charlie's currently being held as a suspect."

"What? At the FBI? And you didn't stop them? What on earth is going on?"

Don deliberately skipped over the third question and forced himself to answer the fourth one. "He's a suspect in a murder investigation."

Alan just stared at him, obviously unable to form words. "This is a joke, right?" he finally said and peeked out of the windows as if he was expecting to see Charlie loitering out there.

Don was looking at the table intently. He had no strength to look his father in the eye anymore. "It's not a joke."

Confusion now made way for downright anger. "Then you're crazy! Or at least your colleagues are! Didn't you tell them there was no way Charlie could do something like that?"

For a moment, Don entertained the thought of telling Alan what Charlie had told him, that he'd indeed killed that man, just to defend himself and his colleagues. He shrank away from the idea instantly. He couldn't do that to his father, not when he knew that Charlie hadn't been telling the truth. And he did know that, right? He _knew_ his brother was incapable of murder, of such a horrible, torturous murder anyway. He just didn't know why Charlie was acting the way he did. But there had to be an explanation, there was no way Charlie was involved in this…

"Look, I know he didn't do it. But there's just a lot of circumstantial evidence and they'll need time to process everything." He knew he should probably tell his dad that talking of 'them' was slightly misleading since it had been Don himself who'd made the initial move and arrested his little brother. Why had he done that again? He sighed deeply. If he could just erase this day from his memory…

"So what?" demanded Alan. "You're just staying here, doing nothing?"

"I _tried_ , Dad!" Don's voice became more desperate. "There's nothing more I can do! I'm off the case! They won't allow me anywhere _near_ Charlie, probably not even near the investigating team!" He ran his hands over his face. "Look, it's just one night in a holding cell. We'll know more tomorrow."

Seems like he'd said the wrong thing. "Holding cell? He's spending the night in a holding cell?" Just what had his father expected?

"Look Dad, it's an isolation cell, it's not like there are any other criminals around. And it's just for one night." His voice now sounded not only desperate, but downright tearful. "I'm gonna make it up to him, I swear." And why again did he feel the need to make things up to Charlie when it was Charlie who had gotten himself in this mess? Well, neither his voice nor his eyes seemed to care for the lack of logic in his thinking. "I just don't know what to do anymore!"

He could feel strong arms around his shoulders and looked up only to see Alan's somber face. "I know, son. I'm sorry. I know you've done everything you could. And you're right, it's only one night. I'm sure everything will get resolved in the morning."

Don nodded, just to appease his father. How were they to resolve this mess if the only one who could shed some light into it was adamant not to talk?

* * *

The next morning, Don had hardly arrived at work when he saw Megan hurrying towards him. "Don, the A.D. is expecting you."

Damn. He should have known that his breach of protocol the previous day would have had more severe consequences than the slap on the wrist he'd already gotten. But Megan went on: "In fact, he asked the whole team to come up."

"Did he say what it's about?"

"Well, no, but it's not that hard to guess, don't you think?"

Don sighed. "You're right. I guess we should get it over with." With a heavy heart, he pushed himself out of his chair. They grabbed David and Colby and headed towards the elevator in silence.

Upon arrival on the ninth floor, things weren't proceeding the way Don and his team had expected. They were ushered in a big conference room where half of the currently investigating team was already seated. Plus his A.D. Plus two agents that were definitely not working in this building. Plus Charlie's laywer Harrison Malloway.

"Take a seat, Agents. These are Agents Eppes, Reeves, Sinclair and Granger, they started the investigation," their A.D. explained to the two foreign agents before introducing them. "These are agents Miller and Rabini from the NSA."

For a moment, it was so silent in the room that one could have heard a pin drop. NSA. That made sense, looking at the immaculate dark suits and the non-descript facial features of those two men. But it didn't answer the question what they were doing here.

"Sir, with all due respect – what's going on here?"

"You'll find out soon enough, Agent Eppes. We'll start this meeting as soon as agents Boot and Kipler bring Doctor Eppes up."

Don's gaze swiveled to Marlowe, who was now the lead investigator, and his team member. So that was the reason why only half his team was present; Kevin Boot and Lizzy Kipler were in the process of getting Charlie out of the holding cell.

Still didn't explain much, though.

Since Don had already been admonished to keep quiet, he settled to examining the NSA agents, trying to figure out if he'd ever seen them before. He didn't think so, but then again, with their average looks, he probably wouldn't be able to remember if he had.

His musings were interrupted when the door opened and his eyes fell on his brother. He looked bad, Don decided, like he hadn't slept at all last night, but that didn't really surprise him. What surprised him was the huge sigh of relief that escaped his little brother when his eyes fell on the two NSA agents. For the first time since yesterday, his brother looked like the one he knew, without that mask of quiet determination on his face, just plain old Charlie who wasn't afraid to show emotion.

"I think we can take off those cuffs now," Agent Rabini said and Don immediately took a liking to him. Still, he was a bit overwhelmed when he noticed the look of pure gratitude that Charlie gave the agent.

Agent Lizzy Kipler raised her eye-brows and looked questioningly at the A.D. who just nodded. A smile played around his lips when he said, "I don't think Doctor Eppes is a flight risk right now, not with eleven seasoned agents present."

Neither Don nor Charlie could really appreciate the joke, but that didn't matter since it made Agent Kipler comply. Charlie gave her a small thanks and Don wondered if it had been the last night in the holding cell that had… broken him so much. The fierce look of determination had gone from his eyes, he just seemed tired now.

"Alright," Agent Miller said and Don tried to turn his attention away from his brother towards Miller. Something told him he should listen carefully. "We've asked you to come here because you have become involved in a matter of national security both Doctor Averell and Doctor Eppes have been part of. This matter has now been resolved, but until the case is fully closed and the perpetrators convicted, we have to ask you to keep quiet about this affair. That means that nothing you are going to hear in this meeting will leave the room. Am I being clear?" He eyed each of them, one after another, and seemed satisfied when he got serious albeit slightly confused nods from everyone.

"Good," he continued. "The most important thing you have to know is that Doctor Eppes did not kill Doctor Averell." Don sighed in relief, not because of the information – well, not primarily – but because it meant that the NSA Agents were on Charlie's side. "We can be sure of that because we have already apprehended the murderers. The three of them are currently being held in our holding cells and one of them matches a DNA sample your people have found at the crime scene."

"What makes you sure that Doctor Eppes wasn't part of this group?" Marlowe interrupted. "I mean, no offense, but he _has_ lied about his alibi."

Miller nodded. "That is because Doctor Eppes spent the time between his meeting with Doctor Averell and his return to the university at the NSA headquarters working on the case he and Doctor Averell had been consulting on, starting three weeks ago."

Don shot Charlie a glance and was a bit surprised to see his little brother's eyes already resting upon him. There was a plea for understanding in those eyes, a nervousness that hadn't been there the day before.

"Doctor Eppes couldn't tell you of his involvement and his whereabouts because the case is still classified and strictly on a need-to-know basis. And before you ask: we can be sure of Doctor Eppes' whereabouts because we had an Agent following him for his own security, just like we'd assigned an Agent to Doctor Averell." At his next words, Miller's voice for the first time since he'd spoken showed emotion, although it wasn't easy to determine whether it was guilt, bitterness or sadness. Maybe a bit of all the above. "Sadly, one Agent obviously wasn't enough to watch the motel. The three perpetrators found a way in and managed to get to Doctor Averell."

"I still don't understand," Agent Marlowe said. "Why had they NSA Agents following them?"

Miller sighed. "As I told you, they had been working on an assignment for the NSA three weeks ago. During this time, there were some… incidents that made us worry for their safety."

Okay, now Don couldn't hold himself back any longer. "What kind of incidents?" He tried to figure out something from Charlie's eyes – they were always so expressive – but his brother had resolved to intently watch the table.

"There were… threats. When those threats didn't have any effect, our opponents grew more serious. A car that brought the consultants back and forth between work and the hotel they were staying at was manipulated, although nobody was seriously hurt in the ensuing accident. Shortly afterwards, there was a shooting outside the building they were working in. Again, neither the doctors nor the agents assigned to them were hurt. Nevertheless, we increased security measures from this point onwards. Gladly, nothing else happened until their work was done and they were sent back home. We kept tabs on them until the threat was resolved, but they didn't seem to be in danger anymore. Then, three days ago, we asked them to do some follow-up work – from their respective homes, this time – and they agreed. Due to the nature of their task and the MO of the murder, we assume that the perpetrators tried to get information from Doctor Averell about this investigation. Since we didn't know if they succeeded, we increased the security around Doctor Eppes as soon as we heard about the murder."

Don couldn't help it, anger rose inside him. Might have had something to do with the shock Miller's report had instilled in him. "Oh yeah, you did?! Then explain this to me, if you were watching Charlie so carefully, how did the FBI manage to arrest him and detain him for a whole night before you finally stepped in?"

"Don." Charlie's voice was quiet, but its somber tone and much more than that those expressive eyes managed to make him restrain himself.

"We _were_ watching him," Rubini chimed in. "We were reasonably sure however that he would be safe with the FBI." The smile that played around the agent's lips was almost teasing, but in Don's current mood that didn't really appease him. "In fact, we thought it was the safest place we could find for him at the time, so we sent Mr. Malloway after him to make sure everything was in order; he's been working with us for some time now. Frankly, since Dr. Eppes didn't know him we were a little concerned that he wouldn't let Mr. Malloway represent him legally, but he must have expected something of the kind." All eyes went to Charlie who nodded in affirmation.

Don however still couldn't believe what they were saying. Were they serious? "How could you?" Don was infuriated by now. "How could you make him be arrested just so –"

"Agent!"

"Don."

The two voices interrupted him at the same time, and it wasn't his A.D.'s command, but rather Charlie's quiet voice that inhibited him from going on. He had a feeling he just didn't understand the world anymore.

"We didn't _make_ him do anything, Agent Eppes." This time the lawyer had risen to speak. "When I talked to Dr. Eppes in the interrogation room, it became apparent that he'd thought exactly the same thing as the NSA Agents, that both for him and for their investigation his arrest was the best solution. He'd assured me that he hadn't said anything to incriminate himself, apart from withholding the truth about his whereabouts during the time of the murder. He was hoping and thinking the evidence was strong enough to hold him without him being forced to admit to a murder he didn't commit. So it seemed fairly safe that you would keep him in detention without being able to charge him later for obstruction of justice. All this had already been settled without my help, so the only thing he asked me to do was make sure that you, Agent Eppes, and your team were taken off the case."

He must have heard wrong. "Why?" His voice was thin.

Finally, it was Charlie who spoke up. "I told you, Don. You would have just gotten yourself into trouble."

Don's head was swimming. So Charlie had somehow planned all this? "But… You couldn't anticipate that the NSA arrested those guys last night. This investigation could have dragged on for _weeks_. They could have convicted you."

Charlie just looked at him and swallowed thickly. "I know." He paused before he spoke again. "But they'd already killed Mark. They would have come after me, too, and there was no telling who might have been caught in the crossfire. Plus," he had to clear his throat, "plus, they couldn't get away with what they did to Mark. I couldn't endanger the NSA investigation by telling you what was going on. I'm sorry."

"Well, I believe this is it," the A.D. started to disband the meeting. "You, Agent Marlowe, can consider your case closed since we'll leave the rest to the NSA. Doctor Eppes, you're free to go. Since the allegations against you were ultimately ill-founded, there won't be any consequences concerning your security clearance either. Thank you, ladies, gentlemen, for your time."

Don was a bit unprepared for the end of the meeting, his mind was still spinning with everything he'd learned in the past half hour. So maybe it was the dazed look in his eyes that made the A.D. call him back while Marlowe's team vanished and Charlie shook hands with the NSA people. "Agent Eppes, I suggest you take the morning off and give your brother a ride home. You look like there are still some things you need to talk about before I can let you back in the field."

Don swallowed. Had it been that obvious? "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

* * *

The elevator was empty aside from his team and Charlie, and maybe that was what made his brother deflate and lean against the wall, showing an amount of exhaustion that was downright alarming.

"So, I guess freedom smells pretty good, huh?" asked David with a smile on his lips while he and Colby patted Charlie's shoulder.

Charlie sighed, his eyes still closed and his head leaning back against the wall of the car. "I guess. I'm so tired I don't really feel anything."

David and Colby, stopped short in their attempt to lighten the mood, glanced nervously at each other.

Megan dealt with the problem in a more head-on, yet still gentle manner. "Are you okay, Charlie?"

He must have sensed their concerned gazes upon him, because he opened his eyes slightly and gave them a muted smile. "I will be. Just hasn't sunk in yet that it's really over now."

The elevator had reached the floor that housed Don's team. "Well, you know, if you need to talk –"

The smile grew more sincere. "I know. Thanks, Megan."

The two brothers made the rest of the elevator ride in silence. In fact, it wasn't until they sat in Don's SUV when the older brother, after a deep sigh, finally felt he had the strength to start this conversation. "So… you got shot at."

Charlie, his head leaning back against the head-rest and his eyes closed, swallowed. He watched his older brother out of the corners of his eyes when he answered with a voice so soft that Don had difficulty to hear him: "Yeah."

Don couldn't help it, he was angry. "Is that all you've got to say about that?"

His brother was silent, but Don could see him swallow. "Charlie, you could have _died_! You never thought about mentioning that?!"

If it hadn't been so unusual for his brother, Don might have thought that Charlie was pissed as well. He certainly gave the impression. "It was classified, Don. You of all people should understand that. Now can we stop talking about that and just go home?"

Don was silent. Of course, he understood the need to keep certain information classified. And he understood that Charlie couldn't just act against those regulations. His understanding, however, didn't make it any easier on him to accept that he'd been completely unaware of what Charlie had been going through for _three weeks_. He'd _always_ known when his brother was stressed about something! When had Charlie learned to hide things so well from Don?

Or was it that Don just didn't care enough?

He shook his head, trying to make the thought go away. After all, he _had_ noticed that Charlie had been a bit more jumpy than usual, more stressed. But he'd just thought that there was a project Charlie was working on that he couldn't talk about. Wasn't the first time and wouldn't be the last. And after all, he'd been right, Charlie _had_ been working on something classified. He just wouldn't have expected something like _that_.

And it still bugged him that he hadn't been able to read Charlie properly during the investigation. For example his shock when he'd learned about Averell's death – it _had_ been genuine, but there had obviously been more than just the reaction to learning that his friend had died.

"What about Mark Averell?" it occurred to him. "Were you… how are you taking… well, it?" He bit his lips. Damn, he was bad at this.

Charlie didn't seem to mind, though. "I don't know," he said softly. "I mean, we only got to know each other during that assignment, though we worked pretty closely together then. And of course, there were those… incidents…"

He trailed off, but he didn't need to go on for Don to understand that looking danger in the face the way Charlie and Averell had done made you closer to one another somehow. It was part of the dynamics that was at work between him and his team members.

"Anyway," Charlie went on, "we met a few times afterwards because… Well, we were both stressed out." He gave him a sheepish grin. "I guess you noticed that. Sorry if I was a bit short-tempered sometimes. Anyway, he seemed to have even more difficulty than me coming to terms with it. Maybe because it was the first time something like this had happened to him. So we talked about what had happened and at the same time tried to figure out a way how to help catch those guys so it would finally be over." His voice grew a bit husky at his next words: "I just wish we could have figured out something before it was too late for him."

Don looked at him with concern and tried desperately to think of something to take his mind off it. "So, you were the one trying to calm him down?" he said and tried to let a teasing note enter his voice. It worked surprisingly well. Good old brother instincts. "No offense, but I don't really see you as calm in the face of danger. And it's not like you've had more experience with such… _incidents_ than him."

Charlie just gave him one of those looks that spoke more than words. Don frowned. "You… you haven't, have you? I mean, this was the first time you were threatened on one of your assignments, right?"

Charlie was silent.

"Geez, buddy –"

"I'm okay, alright? Even _if_ something happened, it obviously left me reasonably unharmed."

Don just stared at him for a moment, wondering if he should make a comment about what _reasonably unharmed_ was supposed to mean, but then again, he wasn't sure he could take it right now.

"Alright," he said, trying to clear his head. "Alright. So I understand why you couldn't tell me all those things. But I still don't understand…" His mind went back to the interrogation room, after Charlie's lawyer had left. "Charlie, why did you lie to me? Why did you tell me you did it?"

There was a look in Charlie's eyes Don couldn't quite place. "You really don't see it?" Don was about to make some snide remark and had to inhale deeply to keep him from doing so. That gave Charlie time to continue before Don reached the end of his tether. "I needed you to step away from the investigation. You would have endangered everything if you continued poking around, especially yourself. I thought if you believed I was guilty, you would hand the investigation to someone else, thereby stop risking your job and, more importantly, stay away from this whole mess. I thought about telling you I was guilty before, but I thought they'd take the case off your hands pretty soon anyway, and I… well, I wasn't to keen on officially admitting to a murder. You never know what happens."

"So you waited until I assured you it was off the record." It had made _click_ in Don's head.

Charlie nodded. "Yeah."

"Well, news-flash, Charlie, just because you told me that doesn't mean I really believed you were guilty."

Charlie eyed him and for the first time in his life, Don felt uncomfortable under his little brother's scrutinizing gaze. "Really?" There was a healthy amount of doubt in his voice.

"Alright, look – did I think you killed that man? No. He was obviously _tortured_ , buddy, there was no way you could do something like that to a person." He bit his lip when he noticed the flash of pain and horror cross Charlie's face at his blunt words about his friend's death. He went on quickly. "I just… I couldn't help thinking you might be guilty of _something_. Why else wouldn't you trust me?"

"You know I trust you."

Don nodded slowly. "I know. I'm sorry."

Charlie shook his head. "Don't be. I can't imagine what it must have been like for you. Pretty embarrassing, obviously, having your brother arrested." Don tried to interject, but Charlie wouldn't let him. "Look, I'm sorry. I never meant for that stupid NSA case to interfere with you or any other part of my life, but it happened and I couldn't find a better way to deal with it." He paused. "Are we… are you… mad at me?"

A smile started spreading on Don's face. "No, buddy, I'm not mad. And yeah – we're good."

* * *

So, hope you liked it. And don't worry, there _will_ be physical whumping in the next ones ;)


	2. Bomb

**Disclaimer:** Numb3rs still doesn't belong to me.  
 **Timeline:** season 3-ish.

* * *

 **Bomb**

"You did not!"

Glenn Parker looked up and quickly back down, trying not to show his excitement. Here they were, the sandy-haired one and the Afro-American. He'd seen them on the scene this morning and decided that it was just a matter of time until they'd come here, to the coffee shop / deli across the FBI building. He just wouldn't have thought to be _that_ lucky, he'd only been here for two hours. But then again, it was lunch time, and even hardened FBI agents needed to eat something.

Glenn bent down over his Sudoku puzzle and strained his ears.

"Well, it's not like I was _planning_ to!" the Afro-American one was just defending himself as an answer to his friend's earlier outburst. "I mean, you should think they'd keep their hands off each other at work, or at least… I don't know, put something on the door-knob? I just don't understand, what would they've done if I'd been a student? I mean, it's not like he had office hours or something, but Charlie _does_ have an open door policy." He sighed heavily. "I just don't get it."

The sandy-haired man, still having an unbelieving grin on his face, wasn't about to let the matter drop. "But they weren't… you know…"

The other one made a face of utter disgust. "Geez – what's wrong with you?" He shook himself. "No, they were just kissing. But by kissing I mean – well, _hot_ kissing."

The first one giggled. "Oh man. I would have _so_ loved to see your face when you opened that door."

"Wipe that smile off your face. The next time Don sends somebody to CalSci, it's your turn."

The sandy-haired one, still amused, shook his head. "Still not sure if that wouldn't be hilarious."

"Trust me, it's embarrassing. For everyone."

The first one snickered again. "Man, you're just too prim. But anyway, what did Charlie have to say about the data?"

"That it should be enough for the moment. I guess he's trying not to get on Don's nerves again."

"Yeah, Don didn't seem to keen on letting Charlie run around the scenes of the bombings. Can't really blame him, though. I mean, the kid _is_ kind of distracted sometimes."

The Afro-American shrugged. "Everything comes at a price, I guess. I mean, we've all seen him when he's lost in his numbers, but the results kind of justify his process, don't you think? And you've got to give it to him, he's not as bad as he used to be."

"Whatever. So when will he have those results?"

"He said he should be done with the probable sites for the next bombing by tomorrow morning. But he's also planning on doing some timeline that should tell us when the perp is about to strike next."

"He can do that?"

"Would that really surprise you?"

The sandy-haired man grinned. "Nah, I guess he stopped surprising me long ago."

By then, they had reached the counter and only two minutes and some meaningless chatter with the barista later, they were back out on the street. Glenn looked after them, thinking. Tomorrow morning then. That meant he'd _really_ been lucky to catch them today, there was still time to act. He just had some research to do.

* * *

He was in the zone. He would soon have the answer, too. He could always sense that, had always a feeling for when things were about to fit together –

Oh. _Oh._ That… that wasn't optimal.

He finished the line, more slowly now, and took a step backwards. He was right, though. Given the premises… he'd just… no, there was no way he'd made a mistake. Okay, human error was always possible, but… let's just say it was much more likely that he was right.

And if he was, there was no time to lose.

Charlie quickly stuffed the files and his laptop in his bag and hurried to get to his car. He hadn't finished the target analysis yet, his computer would have to run until deep into the night to come up with those results. Waiting for those results wouldn't be rational, though, for he _had_ finished the timeline and that timeline told him that the next bombing would be – tomorrow. So since the bomber unfailingly struck in the early hours of the morning, they had to act quickly in order to be prepared. And thus, he couldn't wait for his analysis to finish running, but instead he and the team would need to find another way to narrow down the list, at least to a point that left them with a manageable amount of data.

He squinted his eyes when he stepped out into the bright afternoon sun, but didn't allow himself time to get adjusted to the light. While he was hustling towards his car, he tried to find his car keys in his bag, with no success. He hadn't left them in the office, right? Impatiently, he pushed his bag against the driver's window to be better able to rummage through it and only a few seconds later indeed retrieved his keys which, of course, had been at the very bottom of his bag.

"Bye, Professor Eppes!"

Charlie looked around and saw three of his students obviously just heading towards their car as well. He half turned to greet them as he pressed the button to open his car. What happened during the following second could only be described by the term 'chaos'.

Something pushed against his right side with a force he'd never felt before. He felt himself lifted off his feet and pushed away from his car, airborne. Only then did the noise register. The sound-wave, as well as the shock-wave, were still showing effect when he hit the ground, hard. Strangely distant, he heard a cracking sound that would have turned his stomach if there'd only been enough time. Before that could happen, however, his world had already become one smooth surface of utter blackness.

* * *

"Oh, my G-d!" Cathy shrieked and couldn't take her hands off her face. Had she – was that – had that car just blown up?!

"We gotta call 911," said Steve and was the first to free himself from his motionless state.

Sayid, the third student on the scene, still hadn't recovered his ability to speak, but was the one who actually pulled out his cell to make the necessary call.

Meanwhile, the three had run towards the unmoving figure on the ground. "Is he dead?" Cathy asked and couldn't quite keep the tears from spilling. This was just so horrible…

"I don't think so," said Steve. "I think he's coming to."

Now that she knew that her math professor hadn't become a corpse during the past minute, Cathy let herself drop on her knees and tentatively touched her professor's shoulder. She could feel Steve looming over her as she spoke: "Professor Eppes, can you hear me?"

At the touch, he had opened his eyes, but only to slits. His forehead was puckered and he seemed to be in intense pain.

"Are you alright, professor?"

Steve's snort made her turn around. "Well," he said, "does he look alright to you?"

Without deigning to reply to that, Cathy went back to attending to the injured man. "Where does it hurt, professor?"

Professor Eppes was looking at her with some confusion. "Can you speak up?" he said in a voice that was a bit too loud. "I can't hear you."

"Must be the effects of the bang. I mean, he was standing right next to it."

"Is he conscious?" They turned around and saw Sayid approach, still on the phone and obviously just about to give an account of the injured man's physical state.

"I'm fine," the professor moaned while trying to get up on his elbows. He let out a suppressed cry of pain and slowly lay back on the ground.

"Yeah, he's coherent, but I think his wrist is broken," Sayid said into the phone.

At that, both Cathy and Steve turned their gaze towards the mathematician's left wrist. Cathy inhaled sharply and Steve cursed a soft 'Shit'. There was already some swelling and definitely some blood. Some bones had to have penetrated the skin. In any case, it looked like it _hurt_.

Cathy swallowed and took her eyes off that awful sight. When she looked back at the professor, she saw him staring down at the injury, obviously still not sure whether that hand was really his. She didn't know how he could keep looking at that, _she_ couldn't do it and she wasn't even feeling the destruction she saw. Not in her wrist anyway. Just in the shivers that ran down her spine. In any case, she was determined to keep her professor's thoughts on other things.

"The ambulance will be here soon," she said, a bit louder than she normally would, and was glad when Professor Eppes' focus shifted onto her and thus away from that flesh-bone-conglomerate.

He nodded slightly. "Thanks." His voice was still strained and the pain obvious on his face although he seemed adamant not to show it. Cathy was somewhat thankful for that, she didn't think she could have handled his moaning or further cries of pain.

Her gaze went back to the car and although she had a hard time dealing with all the destruction, her mind started working again. "The police should probably get called in, too."

"I guess they'll take care of that," Steve replied with an attempt to emanate a calmness he wasn't quite feeling. By now, it had started to hit him: someone had just blown up the professor's car with him standing _right next to it_. From what Professor Eppes had taught them about probability, the likelihood for that event to occur during the time range this condition was met with was infinitely small. Unless, of course, someone had intended it that way.

Steve shuddered. Had someone just actually tried to kill the professor?

"Could you hand me my cell?" Steve's head jerked around at his professor's louder than usual voice. "It's in my bag."

It took him another second to get his head together enough to oblige, but eventually he managed.

"I'm not sure you should be on the phone right now," Cathy said a bit worriedly as Steve handed over the phone. "You might have a head injury and who knows –"

"I'll be fine," he interrupted her with as much determination and authority as he could muster while lying on the ground. "But thank you for your concern," he added to soften the blow of his slightly harsh words.

They could see his hand shake a little, either from the adrenaline or from the pain, as he turned up the volume of his phone and hit speed dial 1.

* * *

"Alright, so what have we got?"

They had assembled in one of the conference rooms in order to put together the information they had collected during the afternoon and decide what their next steps would be.

"David and I checked the buildings' owners, but doesn't look like there's something there," Colby began. "Fairly big construction companies, mostly. They don't seem to gain. True, the buildings were all abandoned, but they were all in a good enough shape and planned to be reused again. We did the math –"

Don and Megan exchanged raised eye-brows and Colby wasn't willing to let that slide. "Hey, that's high-school math. Even I can do that."

"Well," David chimed in, grinning, "at least with a nudge in the right direction here and there."

Colby glared at him. "Anyway," he continued slightly miffed, "either they're just plain stupid or they're innocent. In any case the insurance fee doesn't cover their losses, so they don't seem to gain. Plus, all the buildings were owned by different companies which in turn were insured with different insurance companies, and I guess we can rule out that each of them just spontaneously decided within the last couple of weeks to blow up one of their buildings."

"Yeah, I think we can rule that out," Don said, turning back to a more professional mood. "Megan?"

Just as she was about to give them her preliminary profile, Don's cell rang and he pulled it out. "Hang on, Megan, it's Charlie." He answered it. "Hey, buddy, you got some results already?"

"Uh… kind of, but… Don?"

Don frowned. Was there something wrong? "What's up?" When there wasn't an answer immediately and instead, the slight tremble in that too loud voice registered, he couldn't hold back his concern any longer. "Charlie, are you okay?"

"Uh… sort of?"

Don almost dropped the phone. His calm was gone and he let his anger disguise his panic. "Sort of?! What the hell is that supposed to mean? Charlie, what happened?"

"Look, I'm not hurt that badly."

Don thought his heart had stopped beating. Would explain his gasp for air. But before he could comment on that, Charlie continued. "And there are students with me who have already called an ambulance, so everything's fine."

"FINE!? Are you kidding me!?" By now he had jumped up from his chair and grabbed his jacket. While he was all but running to the elevators, he noticed out of the corners of his eye that his team was following suit, not really knowing whether he should tell them to stay back or take them with him. He made an effort to pull himself together and find out what happened before letting his worry take over. "Look, I'm on my way. Where are you?"

"CalSci parking lot."

Don felt a knot in his stomach. If it wasn't that bad, as Charlie had claimed, he would have told him that he didn't need to come, right? That he was overreacting? Unless, of course, he wasn't overreacting.

"Charlie, what happened?"

"Um… someone just blew up my car."

Don's eyes went wide and he felt a hand grip his upper arm. Good. Didn't trust his knees right now. "Someone _what_?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"I thought… well, it might have something to do with your case, right? I just… well, I just thought you should know."

Don's mouth moved, but no words came out. There were a number of things he could say to that. But all he could really bring himself to say was: "Hang in there, okay? We'll be there in a minute."

* * *

You could still see that it was a car – or rather, that it had been one this morning – but it was equally obvious that it was no longer in any state to take you from point A to point B. Still, the bomb must have been fairly small. That didn't quite allay Don's fears, though. Small bombs could do enough damage as well.

Colby's foot was still on the break when Don jerked the passenger door open and jumped out, heading towards the ambulance. A stretcher was just being pushed into it and on that stretcher Don could see the figure of a very familiar curly-haired mathematician. The unmoving figure.

Don stopped short, feeling as if he had just run into a solid wall. Charlie couldn't… He'd been talking to him _minutes_ ago!

He shuddered. There was a reason why he'd been so distraught upon hearing the news. With explosions, there was always the risk of inner injuries.

He felt sick at the thought, but he couldn't just stand here any longer, he had to get to his brother, he just had to see him.

"Sir, please step back –"

Telling himself to remain calm and cooperative, Don tried to get nearer. Damn, Charlie was pale. The soft-collar did nothing to improve his appearance either. And why did he have his eyes closed? "That's my brother. Please, just let me through."

And indeed, she did. "Charlie?" His voice was trembling, as was his hand when he laid it gently on Charlie's leg.

At the touch, Charlie's eyes popped open, though quickly narrowed, trying to shut out the bright light. "Don?" he asked, a pained frown on his face.

"I'm here, buddy." He quickly glanced at the paramedic who had stopped him before and her nod told him that he'd be able to stay with him. "Megan, you're in charge!" he called out to his co-worker before taking his seat next to Charlie. The doors were closed behind them and the ambulance drove off.

* * *

Don had buried his head in his hands. He didn't know what to think. True, Charlie had seemed okay enough on the ambulance ride. He'd still had difficulty hearing and he was obviously in pain due to his wrist, but he'd assured him that other than that, he was fine. Well, he'd admitted to having a slight head-ache when Don had confronted him with the gash on his forehead. Apart from that, however, he appeared remarkably well, and still seemed to be keeping his wits about him – which was more than Don could say about himself. He'd even told him about the timeline – news which Don had already forwarded to Megan. And he'd _actually_ convinced him not to call their Dad before they had some news about his condition.

He glanced at his watch. Damn it. Two hours. They'd been here for _two hours_ already and not a word on his brother! Okay, that wasn't exactly true, an hour ago a nurse had stepped outside and told him that they were still doing the surgery on his wrist. And that he shouldn't worry. But damn it, a _bomb_ had gone off next to him!

Don stood and paced impatiently. Why had he consented to not calling their father? If something was really wrong with Charlie, his father would never forgive him for not calling him immediately. Geez, Charlie could –

"You're here for Charles Eppes?"

Don spun around and was faced with a grey-haired, bespectacled doctor. "I'm his brother," he managed.

The doctor smiled and Don felt the knot in his stomach loosen a bit. "We're done now, you can go in. I'll be back shortly." With that, he was gone.

Don took in a deep breath, mentally bracing himself for what he might see, and stepped into the treatment room.

It wasn't until he saw that Charlie was sitting up and the pain no longer apparent on his face that he exhaled. His brother was looking up at him, obviously alert enough, and very much looking like the Charlie he'd seen that morning. Save for the cast on his wrist.

"You can sit down," the nurse that was still hustling about in the room told him before he could say anything. "The doctor will come back soon with the rest of the results."

Don nodded, though ignoring her otherwise. Looking alert or not, he still had to make sure Charlie was alright. "How're you doing, buddy?"

Charlie sighed and apparently had to contain himself not to roll his eyes. Don couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of irritation at Charlie's show of nonchalance. "As you were already told several times by several people: I'm fine. Well," he added, lifting his left hand, "mostly. My wrist is broken in several places, so I'll have this for at least four weeks." He indicated the cast. "But other than that, I'm fine. No internal injuries, no concussion, no serious trauma of any sort."

"Thank G-d," Don sighed and now let himself sink on a chair after all and ran his hands over his face. He quickly glanced up again. "How's the hearing?"

"Better. It's still kind of muffled, but at least people don't have to shout anymore so I can hear them."

"No concussion?" He just had to make sure. "You said you had a headache."

This time, Charlie did roll his eyes. "Yes, Don, a headache. I bumped my head on asphalt. I'm entitled to a headache. But not every bump on the head leads to a concussion."

"Look, Charlie, I'm just worried, alright? I think I'm entitled to _that_."

Charlie was silent. He was saved from an answer by the doctor's arrival. "Alright, Dr. Eppes, everything seems to be okay so far. None of the other tests showed any sign of any complication. Just to be on the safe side, though, I'd like to admit you for the night."

Charlie puckered his forehead. "Is that really necessary?"

The doctor tilted his head . He apparently was used to more complying patients. Well, he obviously hadn't met Charlie yet. "No, it's not necessary, just normal procedure under the circumstances. Among other things, you might still suffer from dizziness and vestibular disorder due to the acoustic shock. Plus, with the narcotics we gave you for the surgery on your wrist, you're not apt to be an active participant in road traffic for another couple of hours."

"I have someone with me," Charlie stated, indicating his brother who just raised his eyebrows at that.

And of course, Charlie got his way. The doctor gave him some prescriptions and told him to rest, but other than that seemed content enough with his patient's physical condition.

Don was secretly glad, too. He hadn't wanted to say anything in front of Charlie, but the fact was that being out of the hospital was a lot better security-wise. After all, someone had planted a bomb on his car. That was an attempt on his life. And especially being only one agent for the time being, it would be much easier to keep Charlie safe at his house than at a public hospital.

"I just have to check in with Megan," he said as he slowly led his brother through the corridors. The doctor had been right, due to the loud noise and the effect of the sound waves, Charlie's sense of balance, being situated in the ear, had suffered and still wasn't completely back to normal. But walking slowly, they managed to exit the hospital without an incident.

"What's the rush in calling her?" Charlie asked with a slight alarm in her voice. "We'll be there in a couple of minutes anyway. Did something happen?"

That made Don stop abruptly. He was frowning. "We'll be what?" Surely Charlie couldn't mean what he thought he meant.

Charlie was looking equally confused. "We _are_ going to the FBI, right? I mean, we still have to find out where he'll strike next."

"There is no 'we' for you, Charlie. Let my team do the job. Your job is to go home and rest now, you heard the doctor."

"Don –"

"Just cut it out, Charlie!" Damn. That had been more forceful that he'd intended. He could see Charlie flinch. Shit, his brother still wasn't all that stable on his feet, how could he shout at him like that? "Look, I'm sorry. But surely you realize that I have to take you off the case."

Charlie swallowed, but he wasn't willing to back down. "Why?" he asked, a bit hoarsely, trying his best to walk the thin line between not infuriating his brother and standing his ground.

Don stared at him. "Charlie, do I really have to spell this out for you? You could've been killed today."

"Come on, Don, don't make a big deal out of it," Charlie muttered.

For a moment, Don was so dumbfounded he couldn't utter a word. Then, however, it broke out of him all the more forcefully. "Are you kidding me?! Is that what I'd be supposed to say to Dad? 'Hey, Dad, sorry I got your son killed, but hey, it's no big deal'?!"

Now it was Charlie's turn to stare. His voice, however, was much quieter than his brother's, almost subdued by the feelings Don had just revealed. "It wasn't your fault."

Don snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Don –"

"Just leave it alone, Charlie." They'd reached the car by now. "Stay back." He knew he was being gruff, but damn it, he was most definitely _not_ having a good day.

He crouched down and checked the underside of his SUV. Charlie was about to make a comment about paranoia, but contained himself. He had a very distinct feeling that Don would be _literally_ biting his head off if he got on his wrong side once again.

He had to risk it, though. They had to figure out the bomber's next target – tonight.

"It was just a scare tactic, you know," he stated quietly. "He wasn't trying to kill me."

"And you'd know that, of course."

He could tell that Don was still angry, but that he would also do his best not to let that show. Not too much, anyway.

He, too, forced himself to make his point calmly and logically. "He must have linked the explosive device to the electronic door lock, so he probably thought I'd be at some distance when the bomb would go off. He couldn't have expected that I would be standing right next to the car. And even being as close to the bomb as I could be, I was hardly hurt. If I'd been a few feet away, I might not have been hurt at all. Well, maybe I'd still have gotten that ear thing, but nothing else."

Don just huffed, but Charlie set his hopes on the fact that Don still hadn't started the car. Maybe, just maybe he would hear him out. "He just wanted to scare me, Don. And I'm not about to let him do that. Frankly, right now I'm just pissed at that jerk."

Don looked at him a bit surprised. Charlie didn't often swear. But granted, he didn't get his car blown up and his wrist broken very often either. "Well, Charlie, I'm just not willing to take that risk." G-d, if Charlie only knew what he had gone through these last couple of hours, thinking that he might lose Charlie, worse, that it would be his fault…

"Alright. So what are you going to do? You won't let me go anywhere alone – okay. But why can't we do that at the FBI instead of at home? I guess it would be harder to get a bomb inside the FBI building than into the house." His brother was silent. "Don, if we can figure out tonight where he'll strike next, you can apprehend him in the morning and we can stop thinking about him. No bomber, no danger for me or for anyone else for that matter."

Don sighed deeply. He hated it when Charlie was right. He hated it even more when being right put him in harm's way. True, it wouldn't be easy to get a bomb into the FBI. But Charlie was supposed to rest, not to pull an all-nighter. When had he become so dependent on Charlie that he had to make a choice between his little brother's safety and his health? That just wasn't the way working together had been supposed to be like.

"I'll just sit at my laptop," Charlie pushed, apparently reading Don's mind. "It won't even take long."

This could be over tonight. In a couple of hours, they might be able to go home, Charlie could get some rest and convalesce and stay out of dangerous situations for the rest of his life. Yes, under these conditions Don could give his consent. It was for Charlie's best, after all, right?

"Fine," he muttered as he turned on the ignition.

* * *

Megan was staring at them wide-eyed when she noticed them coming towards her. "Charlie!" she exclaimed. "Should you be out of the hospital?"

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Yes, Megan, I'm fine. Now we should _really_ get going on this, even after narrowing down it might still take –"

Megan interrupted him, smiling. "Would an address help you?"

Both Eppes brothers stared at her. "What?" Don said, utterly confused.

"Let's get Charlie set up in the conference room and then I'll tell you what we found out while you were gone."

Neither Eppes brother objected to that. And while Charlie re-run his analysis, now with the more than helpful data-point of the bomber's home address, Megan filled her boss in. She told him how David, Colby and herself had started at wondering how the bomber could have known about Charlie's involvement in the case. Due to Don's insistence on keeping Charlie away from crime scenes during this case, he couldn't have seen him there. Since Charlie had started working on this case only this morning, his name didn't show up on any reports either. Then, however, Colby and David had remembered talking about his involvement at the deli whose owners were by now accustomed enough to dealing with federal agents that they had let them take a look at their surveillance footage without much ado. His body language had immediately given the perp away. A check with their data base (with some help of an advanced facial recognition software Charlie had supplied them with just a few weeks earlier) had revealed that their perpetrator was one Glenn Parker who only a month ago had been reported for vandalism. Little research was needed to determine that he had smashed in a car whose owner was on the leadership of a construction firm called 'Jackson buildings' – the same construction firm that owned the building that had been destroyed by the third bombing. David and Colby were just teaming up with some SWAT agents to check out Parker's house and, if they were lucky, make an arrest.

When she'd finished her report, Don was more than dumbfounded. "You did all that in… what, three hours?"

Megan looked at him earnestly. "We were really motivated."

Don swallowed and nodded. Yeah, he could see that.

He turned around and took in the sight of his little brother. It was a pretty pitiful sight. He was pale and was supporting his head with his un-injured hand while he held the other one protectively against his stomach. The frown on his forehead left no doubt that he was in pain. Apparently the meds they'd given him for the surgery were wearing off. Or it was his head, who knew.

"Hey, buddy, you sure you don't wanna lie down?" Don asked as softly as he could, trying his best to keep his annoyance with his brother at bay.

Charlie closed his eyes and took a deep breath; apparently he had the same difficulties as Don to stay calm. "Yes, and before you go on, I'm pretty much done here. I'm just waiting for the computer to finish the calculations."

As if his laptop had been waiting for him to utter those words, it gave a _ping_ and Charlie was in his element again. He hit a few keys – slightly slowed down by being restricted to the use only one hand – and moments later had a map opened on his screen where a couple of spots were marked. Charlie pointed to one of these. "There's an 81% chance for this building here," he said while still intently looking at the map, processing the results his math had provided him with. "Seems to be in an industrialized area," he commented as Megan took down the address. "Fits his MO, right? And all those other sites have a likelihood of less than 20% each."

"Thanks, Charlie," Megan said sincerely, just as her phone rang. "Reeves?" She listened for a minute. "Well, never mind, David, we might catch him in the act instead. Charlie let his analysis run with the new data and came up with a location." At David's reply, she smiled and gave Charlie a fond look. "Yeah, he is, and back at working his magic, too." Pause. "I'll tell him. Now get SWAT and head to that location." She gave him the address. "And be careful, after today's events he might change his plans and let the bomb go off tonight instead of in the morning." Don could hear David laugh, but could only guess what he said next based on Megan's frown. And based on her next words. "Who on earth is Heisenberg?" He grinned while she continued listening. She looked at Charlie, still frowning. "Yeah, I might do that. For now, I'll head over to Parker's house to find some further evidence. Keep me posted." She hung up.

Don smiled at her. "You're good at this."

Megan raised an eye-brow. "Praise from Don Eppes? Charlie, what are the odds for that?"

Charlie smiled, though it seemed a bit forced. Neither Don nor Megan missed the pained expression on his face. He really looked ready to take a nap . "Well, I guess it depends on surrounding factors, like for instance praiseworthy behavior."

Megan grinned and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I'm heading out now. You're okay with my decisions?" she asked Don.

"You're the boss." Before she could protest, he added. "Sounds good. Take some agents with you, though. It's never a wise decision to search a house alone, much less the house of a bomber."

Megan nodded, and was already at the door when she turned around once more. "Oh, Charlie, David told me to give you his and Colby's best, so… just get better soon, okay?" The door was falling shut behind her when she called back: "And when this is over you really need to tell me what's the deal with that Heisenberg guy!" Then she was gone.

Don sighed. "So… any chance I can get you to agree to go home?"

Charlie looked up at him with both a pleading and a pained expression in his eyes that didn't make it easy on Don to decide what to do. "Can't we just wait until we hear from David and Colby? Please? I mean… there might be some aspects of the building's –"

"Alright," Don cut him off gently. He understood that Charlie would be much more willing to go home as soon as they had the perp in custody. Don himself felt no different about that. He just had to stay close to the action as long there was still a chance that things might go wrong. Plus, it couldn't hurt Charlie to get some rest before going home. Judging from what his brother currently looked like, it wouldn't surprise Don if he would have to carry Charlie to the car later. Not that Charlie would let that happen.

"Come on, buddy. Let's get you to the couch in the break room."

Charlie didn't protest.

* * *

Don had helped Charlie lie down on the couch and, a bit reluctantly, left for his cubicle to catch up on some paperwork. It wasn't until an hour later, when he stepped back into the break room and looked at his sleeping brother, that he felt the weariness weigh down on himself as well. He let himself lower into a chair and buried his face in his hands. G-d, what a day. If he'd known this morning about all the things that would happen, he would have done everything not to have to leave his bed. And he'd have made damn sure that Charlie wouldn't have left his.

"You okay?"

Don's head jerked up and he was surprised to see his brother's earnest eyes resting upon him. He'd been sure Charlie was sleeping. He had to admit, though, he looked a lot better than he had just an hour ago.

"I'm not the one who got hurt today, buddy."

"No," Charlie said quietly. "But sometimes it may be harder on the ones who don't get hurt."

Don raised his eye-brows. Genius Charlie was not enough, now he'd have to put up with wise Charlie, too? "Oh yeah?" He challenged, not really knowing if he was just teasing or trying to hold back his resentment. What did Charlie know, after all? He couldn't even begin to imagine the guilt path Don had been treading on for the past few hours, nor how much he'd tormented himself over his decision about his brother's further involvement in FBI matters. A decision he still had to tell Charlie about. "And how would –"

"Don't," Charlie interrupted him and the coldness of his voice sent shivers down Don's spine. He gaped. He didn't think he'd ever heard Charlie talk in such a tone before. "Don't you _dare_ asking me how I would know."

Don frowned, but then it hit him. Right. Normally it was _him_ who got hurt on the job and his brother who had to deal with that. However, Charlie had the advantage over Don that he wasn't to blame for his brother's injuries.

"It's not the same thing." Charlie snorted. "No, Charlie, let me finish. What happened today was my fault. I'm the lead agent, I brought you in on this case and I failed to make sure that you could work on it safely. Can you tell me what I should have told Dad if something more serious had happened? I'm still not sure how to tell him about _this_."

"Don –"

"This has to stop, Charlie. Tonight. I can't have you risking your life just to help me out on some stupid case."

Charlie was silent for a moment. Don was just trying to decide whether he was merely sulking or actually giving in – not sure which he would prefer – when his brother spoke up. "So it's some potentially higher risk for me being weighed against a higher risk for everyone else and two persons made unhappy? Doesn't sound all that logical to me, Don."

Don was frowning. He had no idea what his brother was talking about. "Well, you're not making any sense either."

"Well, you would agree that I've helped you on your cases, right? That I've actually contributed to help saving lives?"

"Of course." How could he deny that?

"In that case, if I stop doing that, everyone's risk to get hurt by illegal activity that could be stopped with the contribution of my math gets higher."

"Yeah, well, Charlie, reality check: if it's your life against some stranger's life, what do you think I care about more?"

Most other people, hearing the amount of irritation in Don's voice, would have had a hard time answering that question. Charlie, however, knew his brother well enough to realize that the anger was just a coping mechanism. On the other hand, he knew him well enough to know that such a decision wouldn't be as easy on his brother as he made it seem.

"You can't just ignore the people's lives that are on the line."

"Watch me."

Charlie snorted. "Sorry, Don, but you've been a hard-ass about pushing me to get the job done more quickly a bit too often for me to believe that. You really wanna tell me that if the next serial killer you investigate gets another victim, you won't regret having used _all_ the resources you've got? For I know you will, Don. Which will make you unhappy, to say the least."

Don thought for a moment. Charlie did have a point there. Damn it. He hated that his brother had been trained in logic for practically his entire life. Didn't make arguing with him all that pleasant. At least as long as they were actually exchanging arguments.

"What about the second person?" he said eventually. "You were talking about two unhappy persons."

Charlie raised his eye-brows. "Do I really have to tell you that?" His big brother was silent. "Don, I… I want to do this. I want to work with you. I know what I'm getting myself into, and it's _my choice_ , Don. My choice, my responsibility."

His brother still didn't reply and Charlie felt obliged to repeat his earlier words. "This wasn't your fault, Don. There was no way you could have seen that coming. What happened today was an anomaly. Please, Don…" His was actually pleading now. He didn't care, though. "Please. Can we not throw this away just because of one unfortunate event?"

Don bit his lip. He didn't answer.

The ringing of his cell saved him. While he answered it, Charlie leaned back against the couch and sighed heavily, trying not to let the despair rise inside him. Ever since he'd called Don to tell him about the bomb, he'd been dreading this, he'd been afraid that his brother might take the seemingly easy way out and cut him off. And then what? Would they go back to the way they had been before, not seeing each other, not even _talking_ to each other for weeks on end?

"That was David," Don said quietly.

Charlie didn't react. He just couldn't look at his brother right now, not if he wanted to keep his emotions in check.

"They got him," Don continued. "They're on their way here." He paused. "Apparently Parker was pretty upset when they told him you got hurt."

Charlie was silent. He was surprised that Don's words actually made him feel a little better. They couldn't dissipate the pain he felt in his wrist – or about his car –, but it was somehow consoling that the bomber hadn't intentionally tried to hurt him.

When Charlie remained silent, Don decided to call Megan and ask for an update. After all, she might have found something that could be useful for the interrogation. Since he knew that Charlie would be interested in her findings as well, he put it on speaker phone. Plus, having someone talk in this thick silence might ease the tension a bit.

Megan hadn't been idle. She'd found out that apparently Parker's wife had died almost two years ago during an earthquake while she'd been in a building that had been erected by 'Jackson buildings', the firm Parker had been lashing out at. He'd blamed the firm and accused them of illegal activities, that they'd tampered with the building material in order to save money and thereby sacrificed the building's safety. He'd started a legal war against the firm, which he'd lost. The case hadn't even come up before the court.

Since Parker's whole office had been wallpapered with newspaper clips and other documents about the incident, finding that out hadn't really been difficult. What made Megan really good at her job was that she'd decided to take a look at Parker's browser history and – bingo! The site he most often visited was a message board where people with similar claims against construction companies exchanged their stories. Megan hadn't had time to check that more thoroughly until now, but she was sure that they'd find out that for each construction company who had lost a building to the bombings, they would find someone on the message board who'd been in contact with Parker and who'd been somehow hurt by that firm. Case closed. If only things would always go so smoothly.

Don thanked her and hung up. He heard Charlie sigh deeply. "You okay?" he asked softly.

Charlie didn't answer at once and for a moment, Don was sure he was still mad at him. "It just doesn't seem fair," his brother then said a bit despondently. "I mean, it's always the same thing, those with power and money use their power and money to get more power and money."

Don frowned. "You're not actually trying to defend this jerk? Charlie –"

"I know," his brother interrupted him slightly exasperated. "I'm not defending him, I'm just… What if he was right? Can you imagine that, being right for over two years, about the death of your wife no less, and they just keep shutting you up?"

"That doesn't justify blowing up buildings."

"I know. I just…"

Charlie trailed off and when Don looked at him, he could see that there was _that_ look on his face. The math look. "What?"

Now his brother had also assumed his math voice. Hesitant and out of the world at first, then more and more agitated later on – and completely incomprehensible throughout. "Maybe there's something I could do. You know, lots of the data I'd need is on the public record. And I could probably get some insight from Dad as well. I could do –"

Don stared at his brother as if he had grown a second head. "You cannot possibly be serious."

At that, Charlie sat up and stared at him icily. Alright, then, Don thought. He knew confrontation when he saw it. Better yet, he could handle it, definitely when it came from his little brother. "What are you going to do about it? This is not an FBI case, Don. Now you wanna start dictating how I live my life on top of shutting me out of yours?"

"I never said I wanted to shut you out of my life."

"You're sidestepping the point."

"Because you are mingling topics."

Charlie shot him looks like daggers, knowing very well that he only did that when he felt he was losing the argument. He wouldn't let that happen, though. Not this time. "I'm going to do this, Don. I'm going to try and find out as much as I can about this matter, and you're in no position to stop me. If Parker and those other members of that message board are right, then there might be a vast number of potential victims out there. Plus, Parker's wife deserves justice. You can't hold her responsible for her husband's actions."

"I know. I'm not arguing about that." Charlie raised his eye-brows and Don hesitated. He wasn't at all sure if he could really do that. "I'd like to ask you to do something, though."

A bitter laugh escaped Charlie. "Should have known there was a catch."

Don passed over that. "Be careful." Charlie snorted, but Don wasn't deterred. "And…" He took a deep breath. "And if you find something out, I want you to come to me. I'll try and get the FBI on it so we can investigate this properly."

Charlie eyed him, confusion on his face, but what hurt Don was the suspicion he saw there. "Why? You could end up having to work with me again." He raised his eye-brows belligerently and actually threw out a cheap shot. "I could get hurt in the process."

Don stood up abruptly, slamming his hand on the table. "Damn it, Charlie!" He turned away from him and started pacing in the small break room. "Look, this is difficult for me, so can you just work with me here?"

Charlie was silent, but he was looking at his big brother expectantly. "I know we could end up working together again. That's what I'm saying. We could… I mean, if you want… Maybe we don't have to put a stop to this consulting thing just yet."

The suspicion was still apparent in Charlie's eyes. "Just a few minutes ago you were dead set on never letting me near your work again."

Don shook his head. "You think I _want_ to stop doing this? Charlie…" He trailed off, but decided to say what had to be said. "I think we're… I think we're a really good team. I mean, you've helped us out a lot and we're… I like that we've found something we have in common, and I don't wanna give that up either. It's just… I'm just concerned, okay? So… try your best not to get hurt?"

Charlie felt the corners of his mouth lift upwards. He wouldn't get a better offer. He had a wide grin on his face as he answered: "Deal."


	3. Classified

**Disclaimer:** Do you really think they change owner rights now that there are no new episodes to be aired?  
 **Rating:** This is a bit darker than the rest. It's probably not more upsetting than for instance any random Criminal Minds episode (or watching the news, for that matter), but I still don't think 13-year-olds should read this, so I'd like to rate this chapter M, just to be on the safe side.  
 **Timeline:** late season 4  
 **A/N:** I think I could have written 26 stories all beginning with C (car, cash, crash, cold, childhood, caesium, chloroform…), but I decided on "Classified" and I was SO excited when I started. Now, it just seems too rushed and superficial and I'm not sure what to think about it. However, I don't want to spend any more time on it either (at least not right now), among other things because I'm also pretty excited about the next one (can you guess the title?). Maybe that one will finally be a bit shorter than the others (though I seriously doubt it).  
Still, I hope you enjoy. Just keep in mind that the genre is Hurt/Comfort, maybe that will make things better.

* * *

 **Classified**

Charlie was curled up as tightly as his body would allow. He was shivering violently, but he should probably be glad about that. As long as he was still shivering, his body hadn't developed hypothermia. He knew that as soon as that happened, his chances of survival would become too slim to remain significant. He was surprised though at how little that thought disturbed him. Survival had lost a lot of its value since it meant living in this hell.

He wondered how long it had been. Couldn't be more than a couple of days. His stomach had stopped grumbling a while ago, apparently accepting the fact that his protests against the complete lack of food were leading nowhere.

They hadn't given him water, either. Or in a way, they had. They always tied him to the chair first, though, always started with the slaps, the punches. By now, Charlie couldn't name a single part of his body that he was sure was uninjured. But he could take that. He'd been a living punching bag for most of his childhood, he wouldn't give in that easily now. He just immersed himself in P versus NP and shut them out. He jolted out of this state every now and then, when a particular vicious blow hit him, but he always managed to get back to the math, to hide himself away in his mind.

They had other methods, though.

After the beating, they always brought the water. Still slightly numb from the blows, the first time they duck his head into the icy liquid always came as a shock. The panic of not being able to breathe would bring him to sudden alertness. In between those periods when his head was under the water, often tainting it red with his blood, they would ask those questions again, hardly leaving him time to answer or to breathe before dunking his head back down into the water. P versus NP wouldn't help, he just couldn't find his way into the problem before sensing with panic that his air supply was gone again. Instead of getting used to it, his panic grew, and every time his head was submerged, his struggles became more desperate. Then, they would become weaker, but the panic would still be there. He needed air, this had to stop, _please make it stop_ …

When they were done and he lay on the floor panting, they would take the bucket and pour out the water over his body. The cold would take his breath away one more time before they would take him back to his cell to let him wait for the next round.

They had executed this whole procedure five times by now. Charlie wasn't sure if his senses were playing tricks on him, if maybe the increasing weakness of his body was taking its toll, but he could have sworn that the intervals between these assaults were getting shorter. They were getting impatient. They would get more vicious soon.

 _But I can't take any more than this._

A hot tear ran down Charlie's icy cheek, landing somewhere in his damp curls. He longed so much to be home, to be anywhere but here, but at the same time felt utterly helpless to change anything about his situation. Well, there was _something_ he could do, but he couldn't do that, he just couldn't…

 _Why not?_ a petulant little voice in his head asked. _Just give them what they want, then they'll leave you alone._

He couldn't, though. It wouldn't be right.

 _Who cares about what's right? Most people will never find out, perhaps nobody will ever know…_

But he would know. He couldn't live with that. Plus, as soon as he gave them what they wanted, what reason would there be for them to keep him alive?

 _You really prefer staying alive like this to the alternative?_

Charlie shuddered, a sensation of cold grasping him that had little to do with his body temperature.

 _I just have to_ , he willed himself to think. _I have to stay alive, I have to keep fighting. They will find me soon. Oh G-d, please let them find me soon…_

The door burst open and when Charlie realized that it was real, that he wasn't dreaming, that rescue had indeed come to take him away from this hell, he just couldn't hold back the tears any longer.

* * *

Two days later, Charlie opened the front door of his house, willing his hands to stop shaking. He felt a lump in his throat. He was both yearning for this moment and dreading it, the moment when he would see his family again. The moment when they would see _him_. The bruises, especially the ones on his face, were still visible; the time that had elapsed had actually made them more colorful and thus more prominent.

At least he would only have to deal with his father for now, he told himself. When he'd called yesterday to tell him about his imminent return, he'd learned that Don would come over for dinner tonight, but that still gave him a couple of hours to prepare himself for the encounter. The only question was how he was going to do this. He knew that it would be hard to keep them from asking questions about his assignment, but they would understand eventually. He'd worked on classified projects often enough for them to get used to the secrecy.

No, what he was really worried about was having to see the looks on their faces. He knew there would be terror in their eyes, a terror that would take him back to that hell.

Sighing, he stepped inside, calling out, "I'm home!" and wondering if he would at least be able to check his face in the mirror one more time before he'd be stopped by his father.

He wasn't that lucky.

"Charlie!" a happy Alan exclaimed as he emerged from the kitchen. "Welcome –" Just as Charlie had feared, the welcoming was cut short and his father's eyes widened with shock. "Charlie… what on earth happened to you?"

"It's not as bad as it looks like, Dad. It hardly hurts anymore." That was true. As long as he didn't try poking his face, he hardly felt it.

"But what happened?"

Charlie swallowed. "I got into a fight," he said and told himself that this little cover story wasn't a lie. He'd been fighting – not physically, since he'd been restrained, but he could have given in and told them everything. Instead, he'd resisted and thus he'd been fighting. In a way.

Alan looked at him earnestly. As he studied his youngest son's appearance, there was a sadness in his eyes that bespoke a deeper understanding of what was going on than Charlie's words allowed.

"Are you alright, son?" His voice was quiet.

Charlie nodded, felt the moisture in his eyes and accepted his father's hug, clinging onto him for dear life. "I'm okay," he whispered and managed to pull himself together. He was home. It was over. He was safe.

He took a deep breath and loosened his grip. "I'm fine," he repeated and smiled, which cost him less effort than he'd feared. Maybe everything would go back to normal after all.

* * *

Don smiled when he noticed that the lights in the garage were on as he pulled into the driveway. Charlie was back then.

He decided to check in with his brother first before going into the house and see his dad – after all, Charlie had been gone for over a week. Granted, there'd been times when he might not even have noticed his absence, but over the last couple of years they'd become close enough that Don had to admit to himself that he'd actually missed his little brother.

The smile was still on his face when he opened the door. "Hey, Chuck."

Charlie turned around and Don stopped abruptly, feeling like he'd just hit a solid wall. The smile was gone.

"Oh, hey! Dinner ready?" the rainbow face that had once been his brother's asked casually.

Don, however, was still aghast. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Oh, this? It's nothing, really." With his eyes kept carefully on the ground, Charlie pushed past him. "I'm gonna see about dinner, I'm starving."

Don's mind was still having trouble getting back into working order, so he was too slow to hold his brother back and had to resign to following him into the house. Maybe it was better that way, he was sure that their father would be on his side.

Charlie was already setting the table when Don slowly stepped into the house. He knew what his brother was doing. He was keeping himself busy so he could avoid the confrontation. Well, that wasn't about to work.

"What happened, Charlie?"

"You know I can't talk about it," Charlie mumbled.

Don could sense a feeling of impatience awaken within him. "I'm not asking about your assignment. I'm asking what _happened._ "

"I got into a fight."

"Which you obviously lost." He paused. "Who did that, Charlie?"

Charlie's words, though still a bit hoarse, came clearer now, irritation etching away his insecurity. "That doesn't concern you."

"I think –"

"No, it doesn't!" Now, Charlie was looking at him, no, _glaring_ at him. "This is none of your business, Don. We're not in high-school anymore, I can very well take care of myself."

"Yeah, as evidenced by your face."

"Boys!" They whirled around. "I suggest you both calm down so we can have a nice dinner. Charlie, hand me that knife, please?"

Their father's request was only half met. They stopped arguing, true, but they were far from having a 'nice dinner'.

* * *

Three days later, Charlie got up early – really early – to work on the code. After his debriefing, Bob had asked him worriedly if he was sure he wanted to keep working on this case. Not that the NSA and he as their assistant director didn't need his help, but after the debacle of his abduction, Bob had been reluctant to ask Charlie for anything other than his forgiveness. The fact however remained that despite this less-than-optimal development, the assignment Charlie had originally been working on had been a success: they had managed to intercept several messages of their opponent. Messages which now had to be deciphered.

At first, immediately after his rescue, all that Charlie had wanted to do was to go home. Then, however, he'd been filled with an almost raging urge to complete the task, to finish this case and bring everyone who was involved to justice. Sure, the group that had been responsible for his abduction had been arrested, but that was only one small cell within a bigger organization. They _all_ deserved to be punished.

Now, he was glad he'd made the decision to continue his assignment. It gave him something to do, something to occupy his mind, something to divert his attention from the demons that kept looming in the back of his mind just waiting for him to show weakness, to let his guard down, so they could attack.

That attacks usually came at night. In his dreams, Charlie had no control over his thoughts and they would invariably take him back to the cell, to his kidnappers, to the cold and the fear. When he woke up, bathed in sweat, he was always too upset to go back to sleep, so he would go quietly down to the garage and occupy his mind.

At first he'd tried P versus NP. That problem was so complex, so manifold that he could always find an aspect to work on. But he couldn't. P versus NP was what he'd used during the beatings to escape his captivity. He'd immersed himself in the problem, a well-tried coping mechanism – or at least a means that he was sure could take his mind off things. Like always, he'd considered minesweeper, always trying to find new ways, new algorithms to solve it, and each time checking whether the solution could be computed fast enough. It hadn't worked until now, but there was no reason to give up. Or rather, there hadn't been a reason, until now. Now, the problem had entered Charlie's nightmares. Each time his kidnappers would throw a blow at him, a minesweeper bomb would go up and ruin his thought process, blowing off other minesweeper bombs, each of them hitting him like a physical blow, and he couldn't start anew, couldn't immerse himself back into the problem, because when all the bombs had gone off, they always started with the water…

And now, even while waking the problem would take him back to his captivity. It had stopped working. Just as he tried to use it to get out of his head, to get the images away, it would pull him right back in with a force he had nothing to counter. So, instead of P versus NP, he'd immersed himself in another problem, one that – surprisingly enough – wouldn't take him back to that place he never wanted to see again: the problem of deciphering the codes.

He knew he wasn't working efficiently. He could have very well done something else during the hours the computer let the programs run that he'd written, each time trying to get one step closer to the solution, instead of trying manual ways to decipher the code. But the fact was: there was nothing else he could work on. It was spring break, he'd performed all his duties with the university apart from his own research – and he really couldn't work on that right now. Cognitive emergence? Exploring the twists and wonders of the human mind? Well, no thanks.

Neither was there a case he was helping Don with and Charlie had a very distinct feeling that this was by his brother's design. He couldn't help but feel a bit badly about the way he'd been treating Don and his dad these past few days. They'd been trying to get him to talk, they'd been concerned, but Charlie fended them off. He couldn't do this now, he had to get back to normalcy. If he just pushed the memories away, everything would get better soon.

It hadn't helped that in addition to his bruises, he'd developed a cold which manifested itself in a pretty nasty cough. Which, of course, made especially his dad worry about him even more, which, in turn, fueled Charlie's annoyance. Couldn't they just get off his back?

By now, that seemed to be their plan. Yesterday, Charlie had left no doubt as to his desire to be left alone, and after an intense argument, his dad had indeed retreated.

Charlie ran his hands over his face, exasperated. He knew he should apologize. He'd said things to his dad… _G-ddammit, won't you ever leave me alone? It's just a cold, Dad, give it some rest! Or are you still trying to compensate for the time you shunted me to Princeton?_ His father had been speechless and hadn't pressed the matter further.

Charlie sighed. Why had he said that? That wasn't him, and he knew his dad was meaning well. He just didn't know what was going on with him, he was always so impatient since he'd come back, easily irritated and completely unable to function normally around other people. Even Amita had noticed that something was not right – and she was on the other side of the planet, visiting her family in India.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Willing to stop the tears that were pressing against the backs of his eyes, he stood, just as his computer announced he had finished the latest attempt to solve the code. With a relief that seemed inappropriate in its intensity even to him, he hurried over to the desk to examine the data and was back in his element. Oh right… this could very well… He grabbed a pen and a notepad and started writing. If he was right about this, then he would soon have –

Damn. Oh damn. This wasn't good. So not good. Did fate or whatever just hate him or what?

He thought about running it again, but he knew it was useless. He had his answer, he had it in the clear, he had deciphered the code. Running it again wouldn't change that he didn't like what it said.

* * *

"Hey, Charlie! Glad you could come. Man, you look awful!"

Charlie coughed and stepped wearily into the conference room. "It's just a cold," he quietly replied to Agent Steven Monroe's assessment. He saw the two NSA agents exchange a glance before the smaller one, Desmond Winslow, spoke up. "Look, Charlie, we're sorry, we know you wanted to keep quiet about this, but the people involved should have full disclosure about everything we know, and that includes full disclosure about what happened to you."

Charlie waved him off. "I know."

The room started filling with other agents now – FBI agents – and Charlie did his best to ignore the curious glances they gave him, just returning their greetings and otherwise keeping his focus on the presentation they were about to give. It was true, both the prospect of having to talk or even hear someone talk about what had happened and the fact that soon all these agents would know about it terrified him. But that wasn't even what he was worried about most.

"I heard your brother will also be part of this operation." _That_ was what he was worried about most. "You know we could have made sure that he didn't work on this case," Desmond continued.

Charlie shook his head. He'd thought about this, of course, but he had soon realized that it would have been of no use. "Because he wouldn't have found out anyway with half the office being involved?" he sarcastically voiced his doubts.

At that moment, Don and his team entered the room and any discussion about keeping them out of the loop became void.

"Whoa, Charlie, what happened to you?" David hadn't been able to hide his surprise, but also Megan and Colby eyed the waning colors on his face (which now sported a slightly feverish blush on top of the bruises) with undisguised worry. So Don had actually kept this to himself.

"Nothing," Charlie replied to David's question, but hardly spared him a glance. Instead, his eyes were kept on his brother. Don had his brows furrowed, obviously trying to determine what his little brother was doing at this emergency conference in the FBI building with NSA agents standing next to him.

Desmond cleared his throat. "You know you don't have to stay up front with us the whole time, right? You could stay at the back of the room with your brother's team until we need you."

Charlie looked at him and couldn't hide the pure gratitude that showed in his eyes. He felt like the most despicable coward walking the face of the earth, but he just couldn't stand the idea of having to watch the agents' expressions when they learned what had happened, least of all the expressions of Don and his team. Nor could he stand the idea of _being_ watched during all this, so his decision was soon made. "Thanks, yes, I think I'll do that." And without another word, he pushed past Don's team towards the back of the room.

They didn't take long to join him. "So what's this all about?" Colby asked. "You've been working for the NSA again?"

Charlie nodded, and before he had to think about what to reply, Desmond started the presentation of the case. By now, the room was full with FBI agents, around three dozen of them, all wondering why they had been called in here and what the NSA had to do with it.

"Thank you all for coming," Desmond started. "Let me begin by making clear that all information you are about to hear during the next hour is strictly on a need-to-know basis." He paused and said very slowly: " _Nothing_ that will be said here today is going to leave this room. Am I clear?"

He got confirmation from every agent in the room and nodded satisfied. "Alright. We have come here today because we have solid information that there are plans to launch a terrorist attack in the L.A. area in about a month." There was a sharp intake of breath from multiple lungs, and Desmond gave them a moment to digest the news before he went on. "That's the reason why this project has to remain classified; we can't risk a public panic. Now, in order to avert this attack, the NSA will work together with this office. To do that, we – that is Agent Monroe here, our consultant Dr. Eppes, whom most of you probably know, and myself, Agent Winslow – will now lay out before you the information we gathered so far and then explain to you our plan to proceed." At that, most heads in the room turned around to Charlie, most of them with surprise, for most of them didn't know about his NSA affiliations. Charlie tried his best to ignore the curious looks, staring straight ahead at the presentation.

At the wall, the projected pictures of several known men within the terrorist organization in question appeared. Desmond explained very generally how they had established the group's structure and what other information they had gathered so far. Charlie just stood there focusing on his breathing, glad that he didn't have to pay much attention to the information presented because there was nothing of importance that was new to him. Then, however, Desmond started to explain how they had apprehended that one cell, and keeping his breathing regular became a real challenge to Charlie.

* * *

Don was trying hard to keep his focus on the presentation while at the same time piecing together the puzzle his kid brother had become at the back of his mind. So Charlie had been working for the NSA again, that was hardly a surprise. Don just hadn't expected it to be this big. A terrorist attack right here in L.A…. No wonder Charlie had been so busy and secretive these last few days. And irritable. So irritable that Don had finally given up on getting him to talk about that fight he'd been in. It had become apparent that Charlie was getting a cold, and when his little brother was stressed _and_ sick, he was always cranky enough that Don was glad to have an own apartment to retreat to. After all, Charlie had assured him that whoever he'd been fighting with had been apprehended, so Don had thought that his specialties as a big brother were no longer called for.

Now, however, he wasn't so sure. Instead of the cranky Charlie he would have expected to see, his brother seemed to be more despondent than anything else and… somehow not right. He was unusually quiet. Was it still the secrecy? But why, if the NSA agents were about to inform them about everything?

Out of the corners of his eyes, Don could see Charlie tense up even more and his breathing become more labored. He tore his eyes away from the thin figure and looked back at the screen where now the pictures of six men of Middle Eastern descent appeared. "Eight days ago," Agent Winslow was just explaining, "an unfortunate incident occurred, which nonetheless provided us with some valuable information. While working on the project, Dr. Eppes was abducted by one of the terrorist cells we've been watching."

Don's head jerked to the speaker, his eyes widening. _What?!_ He must have heard wrong.

Just like every other head in the room, he turned to look at his brother. Charlie was staring hard at the floor, his jaw clenched, his arms crossed tightly before his torso as if to offer some protection.

 _G-d, Charlie…_

Before Don had started breathing again, Winslow continued. "He was extricated three days later in an operation during which we managed to apprehend these six men who formed one of the cells I've been talking about. They'd tried to get Dr. Eppes to reveal information about our level of knowledge and our investigative methods in this case, which he refused to deliver."

Even though all the heads had turned back to the NSA agents by now, the tension that followed these words was palpable. Each agent in the room understood what Winslow's calm, matter-of-fact words implied: torture. They'd been trying to get information from Charlie by torturing him.

Don felt his throat close up and tears form at the corners of his eyes. His breathing had become unnaturally loud in his own ears. Three days… Charlie had been at the mercy of those terrorists for _three days_ , they'd tortured him for _three days_ …

Acting on an impulse, Don grabbed one of Charlie's upper arms. His brother didn't look at him, but Don could sense him tense up even further. He wouldn't let go though. He had to make sure Charlie was still there and not in some torture chamber, and he had to make sure that Charlie knew that _he_ was there. For him.

When the tension in Charlie's body receded, Don forced himself to focus on the presentation. He'd be there for his brother, yes. But he would also make damn sure that everyone who was involved in hurting him would be brought to justice.

* * *

When he felt the touch on his upper arm, Charlie would have almost cried out. Then, however, he realized it was his brother and forced himself to calm down, well aware he was being watched. It was hard, but not as hard as he would have thought. With surprise he realized that the simple contact with his brother made him feel a little better.

Desmond was just explaining how his abduction had not only led to the arrest of the six terrorists, but that they had also been able to deduce their opponent's state of knowledge about their investigation from the questions they'd asked him during the torture. Charlie almost laughed, not sure why he considered it so funny that his experience in hell had a silver-lining after all.

Then, it was over, and it was Steven's turn to inform the agents about the coded messages they'd intercepted. And then it was Charlie's turn.

He knew that most of them would be staring at him with that _look_ now, the look that told him that there was something wrong with him. He'd seen it before, in Desmond's and Steven's eyes, when they'd learned about what he'd gone through, and he braced himself for it. He knew the FBI agents had to know about the code, they had to know what they were up against and what to keep their eyes open for in case they stumbled upon further encrypted messages. He kept telling himself that he could do this. This was math. Math was his element. He could do math.

When Steven finished, he freed himself from Don's grip and strode to the front of the room. Steven had pulled up part of the code he'd been working on, so everything was ready for him to start. Out of sheer habit, without thinking, he did what he always did when giving a lecture: he looked up at his audience.

 _Well, shit._

He'd been right. They were staring at him with that look on their faces, or at least most of them did. Don did. Their gazes interlocked for a moment before Charlie tore his eyes away. He couldn't do this now. He settled on a face in the first row he didn't know, a face without that look, and started his presentation.

It went surprisingly well. He even managed to keep the coughing at bay. It wasn't one of Charlie's more spirited or witty talks, and since he never took his eyes off that one face, he couldn't tell how much of his audience he lost on the way, but he was reasonably certain to have made the matter sufficiently clear. He explained to them what the code looked like, gave them a general idea of how it worked and finally presented what it said. That was when Steven took over again to present the conclusions they had drawn from the decoded messages before Desmond concluded the meeting by assigning tasks.

When it was over, Charlie breathed a deep sigh of relief and purposely kept looking at the ground or the laptop screen while the agents left the room and got to work.

"Charlie."

Charlie carefully kept his eyes at the computer screen, around Desmond's elbow. "I'm busy." That was a lie. There was absolutely nothing he was doing right now. He still had to check some details with Desmond and Steven – for example, where to set up – but they were currently busy talking to other agents.

Don took a deep breath that shook just slightly. "Charlie," he repeated, "you know you have to talk about this."

Charlie had to fend off another cough and maybe that was why his voice sounded so flat. "Let's just get to work and finish this case, okay?"

He could tell that Don was still there, even though it took him some moments to gather the courage to speak again. "You're hoping that solving this case will make it all go away, but there's a good chance that it won't."

"And how the hell would _you_ know that!?"

Charlie was looking up now, so he couldn't miss that every single agent that was still in the room was staring at him. No surprise there. Plus, he didn't shout often. He just didn't know what was wrong with him. Why did he keep hurting everyone who wanted to help him?

An apology was lying on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. He didn't know why, he knew that Don just meant well. But he also knew that he was sick of it. He was sick of other people telling him what he should or shouldn't do, as if they knew better than him. _None_ of them had any idea what he'd been through. None of them could imagine what he was feeling. And none of them seemed to see him as a person, with an own free will, they just kept judging him and trying to make decisions for him, treating him like a puppet or a dog, just like _they_ had done.

"I've seen enough people crack over the years," Don continued very quietly. The others had resumed their conversations, so that there shouldn't be anyone close enough to hear. Not that Charlie could be sure of that, since he'd gone back to staring at the floor, willing the tears to stay at bay. "Both victims of violent crimes and co-workers. They all thought they could deal with what they'd been through on their own, but they couldn't, and it ate them up from inside. Charlie…" He could hear emotion enter Don's voice. "I don't want that to happen to you."

Impatiently, Charlie wiped his eyes. He knew that Don was right. But he just couldn't do this, not here, not now, not before they had finished this. Maybe, just maybe, it would go away on its own? "Let's just get to work," he said tonelessly and pushed past Don and his silent team, headed for the restroom.

* * *

Don stood when he saw Charlie emerge from the restroom few minutes later, but his brother didn't spare him a glance as he went straight ahead to one of the smaller conference rooms to get to work. A room without the usual glass front, but with solid walls instead.

"You okay?"

Don started to turn around, but found that he couldn't take his eyes off the door that had just closed behind his little brother. "You should ask Charlie that," he said quietly.

Megan nodded. "I probably should. But it's obvious you're hurting as well, Don."

"Then why ask if I'm okay?"

Megan sighed. "Just see it as an offer? One that's still standing. You know I'm here for you, Don – for both of you. And so are David and Colby. You just have to say the word."

Don's voice was still quiet, even despondent. "Can you make him feel right again?"

Megan bit her lip and stayed silent.

"Yeah. I thought so."

He finally tore his eyes away from the door, pretending to look at the paperwork in front of him he didn't really see. He could sense that she was still there, watching the back of his head, before she turned around again to do her job.

He ran his hands over his face. "Megan," he said and waited until he heard her turning towards him. "I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. I'm –"

He felt her small hand on his shoulder. "Hey. It's okay. I understand."

He nodded his thanks, glanced at the door to the conference room one last time and finally set to work.

* * *

A few hours later, Don glanced at his watch, not for the first time during the past hour. It was getting late. True, they had an important case at their hands, but they would be working on it for another couple of weeks. There was no sense in pulling an all-nighter and working themselves into a state of exhaustion at this early stage; they had to pace themselves. Besides, from the information they'd gathered from the code, it was evident that the terrorist attack wasn't about to happen for another four weeks, possibly longer. Granted, the arrest of the six members might prompt them to act more quickly, but even so they still weren't prepared to strike for another three weeks or so.

Most of the other agents had gone home by now. His team was still there, but Don knew that they'd only stayed because he was still here. And the only reason _he_ was still here was because Charlie was still here.

Don sighed. He just didn't know what to do. He knew they should all go home right now, but he sure as hell wasn't going to leave without his brother. The problem was, he wasn't sure whether Charlie would come with him. They hadn't talked since after the briefing, and Don knew that there was little chance that Charlie would talk to him now. He did have a tendency to push issues he didn't want to deal with aside, as if that would solve them somehow. It was almost funny, he would attack every cognitive problem head-on while hiding away from anything that bore even the most remote possibility of emotional hurt. He'd done it frequently when they'd been kids, then again when their mother had died, and even with pursuing a relationship with Amita he'd taken an absurd amount of time just because he'd been too afraid to face his emotions.

This time, Don could actually understand Charlie's reluctance to face his emotions, but that didn't mean that he would let his brother go through with it. However, he also knew that in order to keep him from doing what he always did – doing math and stretching his body to its limits – he might have to make a compromise.

"Alright guys, let's call it a day."

He saw them exchange glances, but it was Megan who spoke. "You're heading out as well?"

He nodded. "I'm gonna grab Charlie and we'll see you tomorrow bright and early." His smile didn't reach his eyes.

Megan noticed. "Need some help?" None of them had any trouble understanding that she was referring to getting Charlie out of his temporary office.

He waved them off. "I'll manage," he said with more conviction than he felt. "See you tomorrow."

They said their goodbyes and Don took a deep breath. He had a feeling this wasn't going to be easy.

He actually knocked, but didn't wait for a reply before he entered. There was a good chance Charlie hadn't even heard him.

"Charlie?"

He might have heard, Don wasn't sure, but in any case he didn't turn around or show any other kind of reaction.

"Charlie, I'm heading out now. You coming?"

There was silence for some seconds, but eventually his brother answered. "I'm here with my own car."

"We can ride back in together tomorrow. I'm gonna stay at the house tonight." It was only after he'd said it that it occurred to him that he probably should have asked Charlie and not stated his intention as a fact – it was his brother's house, after all. But he didn't, not even now that he realized his faux pas. Usually, he wouldn't even have thought about it, but tonight, he was actually afraid he wouldn't be welcome.

"So, you coming?" he pressed when Charlie remained silent. More silence followed. "Come on, buddy, you need to take a break. We all do. Practically everyone else has already left."

Charlie sighed, which instantly turned into a nasty cough. "Alright," he said flatly when he could breathe again. "But I'm gonna take my own car."

Don was about to agree, thinking of his intention to compromise, but seeing the pitiful state his brother was in, he just couldn't bring himself to do it. "Charlie… you look awful. I don't think you should drive right now. Did you even sleep last night?"

At that, Charlie rolled his eyes and got back to his whiteboard, scribbling more agitated than he had before.

Don sighed, fighting hard both the urge to strangle his brother and to rush forward and pull him into a hug. "Charlie, _please_." He knew he could usually bring Charlie to do almost anything, but right now, he wasn't even sure if begging would help.

"You're just trying to get me to talk about it," Charlie muttered without looking at him.

This was his chance. "No, Charlie, I'm not. I promise. I won't try again until you either want me to or until this case is over."

There was a moment of silence. "Promise?" Damn, his voice sounded so frail, so insecure. So lost.

"Promise."

Whether it was a sign of his willingness to cooperate or mere exhaustion, Don didn't care, he was just glad that Charlie accepted the arm he laid around his shoulders. This close, however, he couldn't miss the thin layer of sweat covering Charlie's face. "Geez, buddy, you're feeling a little warm there. Maybe you should go see a doctor in the morning."

Charlie stood abruptly. "No talk about my health – either emotional or physical."

Don shook his head. "That wasn't the deal, Charlie –"

"It is now. I consent to get to and from work with you, but you're not allowed to criticize how I treat my own body, nor to give me any advice about my physical or… or my emotional state."

Shit. What should he do? Charlie had the upper hand. It wasn't like he could just drag him to the SUV against his will.

Although…

Don pushed the thought aside and was met with the determined look in his brother's eyes. Why did he have the feeling he could only lose this argument? If he agreed, there was no way Charlie was going to see a doctor anytime soon. He would push his body to its limits and work himself to exhaustion. If he didn't agree, however, Charlie would just stay here and continue his self-destruction tonight instead of in the morning. Thinking about it logically, it wasn't really a matter of debate.

"Fine," he muttered, knowing full well he would regret his words later.

* * *

Four days had passed. Don had started regretting his words the moment that they'd arrived at the Craftsman that first night and he almost had to carry Charlie into the house. By morning though, the fever seemed to have gone down some, so that their dad didn't even make a comment when Charlie left the house with Don to go to work, but just gave him a stern, disapproving look. The coughing, however, had increased and continued to do so. By now, it was difficult to have a conversation with Charlie – not just because he continued to retreat, but also because of the coughing fits and his almost inaudible voice. Their dad and Charlie had stopped talking altogether – or rather, Charlie had stopped reacting to his father's admonishments.

Don always felt like crying whenever his eyes fell on Charlie these days, but there was nothing he could do. He'd thought about just not taking Charlie to work with him in the morning, but he knew that his brother would just take a cab or something and that from this moment onward, he would no longer consider himself liable to their agreement. This way, he at least got rest at night, even though Don suspected that Charlie kept working on the case in his room, for he always took a notepad filled with illegible scribblings with him on the rides to and from work.

They were just processing the witness reports of a van that they knew belonged to the terrorists when they heard the hacking that undoubtedly meant that Charlie was approaching.

Few seconds later, he was leaning against the doorframe, and Don caught his breath. His brother looked awful, ready to topple over. Don instantly stood, filled with the need to get to him even though he had no idea how to help him. Charlie was still fighting a coughing fit, a particular nasty one, pointing towards his temporary office and trying to catch his breath to say something. "I've got –" he managed before the coughing got the better of him again.

By now, Don had reached him. He put his arm around his brother in a gesture he hoped was comforting, but he couldn't miss the fact that he was utterly useless to him. "Charlie, what is it? Do you need something?" Charlie shook his head, still bent over from the coughing, clutching his chest, and Don started to get scared. "Colby, get him some water." He was just about to turn back down to Charlie when he noticed the weight against his chest.

"What the –"

Instinctively, he encircled his brother with both his arms now, and it was a good thing he did that. An instant later, Charlie collapsed.

"Charlie!"

The limp form in his arms tore him downwards. Filled with a terror he hadn't known before, he carefully laid him on the floor and only now noticed that his team was at their side. Colby was checking Charlie's pulse, while David uttered a soft expletive. "He needs oxygen, look at his lips. We need to call an ambulance."

Megan was already on the phone, but she, like Don and Colby, turned to look at Charlie's face at David's words and gasped: Charlie's lips had turned blue.

Without hesitating further, Don took his brother's face in his hands and put his mouth to Charlie's nose. At the last second, his training had set in, telling him to be careful: Charlie's condition, especially the blue lips, could also be a sign of some sort of poisoning. Better avoid mouth-to-mouth.

"His pulse is shallow and rapid, but regular." He heard Colby's voice as if through a mile-long tunnel, concentrating on his task to fill his brother's lungs with air.

"He's really warm," Colby added quietly, as if he wasn't sure whether he wanted to reveal that fact.

Don blocked him out. He could feel the heat himself, he could feel the sweat on Charlie's cheeks. All that wasn't important now. The only important thing was supplying him with oxygen, keeping him alive.

Charlie's eyelids fluttered open and Don was so captured by the sight that he stopped his task for an instant. A frown formed on Charlie's forehead, and his eyes flew through the room until they landed on his brother.

"Don…" The croaking sound wasn't even a whisper and hardly qualified as a word, but it led way to another cough, though infinitely weaker this time.

Don blindly found his brother's hand and squeezed it tightly, never breaking eye-contact with Charlie. "It's okay, buddy, don't talk. Everything will be fine, the ambulance is on its way." It would make him feel so much better if he could only believe his own words.

Those big, dark eyes looked up at him, now not only filled with confusion, but with downright fear. Don suspected it had something to do with Charlie's laborious efforts to breathe. "Calm down, buddy, help's on the way. You just collapsed, you seem to have a fever. Just keep breathing, nice and slow, okay?"

The fear was turning to panic now. "Can't –"

Don squeezed the hand tighter and tried to keep up his soothing words, but found that he couldn't. His throat was tight, no words were coming out.

"Listen to Don, Charlie, just calm down." Don was so grateful for Colby's support that his throat constricted even more. "Just relax. You won't suffocate, you know we won't let that happen to you. Just try and take some deep breaths."

That seemed to work somehow, although Charlie still seemed to have trouble getting air into his lungs, and his lips hadn't lost their blue tinge yet. There was a whistling sound in his breathing that Don didn't like, just as he didn't like the paleness of Charlie's exhausted features as he lay there on the floor, concentrating only on breathing and keeping himself alive.

* * *

"Don!"

Don's head jerked up and he stood, the nausea rising inside him simultaneously with the movement, as he watched his father approach.

He didn't even manage a greeting before his dad went on, "What happened?"

He swallowed, trying to get the image of his brother's pale form and his blue tinged lips out of his head. "Charlie collapsed. His cough had become really bad and he had trouble breathing." That was all he could say for now, and he didn't even think he'd added any information to the facts he'd delivered when he'd called his dad. There _was_ no new information. Charlie was still being treated, and still they didn't have any word on him. For almost an hour now.

Don warily eyed his father, waiting for a reaction. He'd both feared and longed for his arrival. He'd feared it because he was afraid his father might blame him for what had happened, and he knew there wasn't anything he could oppose to his accusations. On the other hand, he just needed him here right now. True, Megan was waiting with him and he was immensely grateful for that, but she wasn't his dad, and she wasn't Charlie's dad.

"I knew this was going to happen." His father was agitated, pacing impatiently up and down the width of the hospital corridor and using his hands to make his point. "I told you he shouldn't go to work, that he needed rest. So maybe _now_ you think that there might be more important things than your job?"

"Dad –"

"Don't talk back to me! You saw the state he was in, but you just decided to use him for your work anyway! Do you realize _now_ what that did to him? Do you still think it was worth it?"

"Alan!"

Megan's forceful voice was piercing through the sterile hospital air. An angry spark had entered her eyes. She'd always been fond of Alan, he'd been like a father to her, hell, she'd envied Don and Charlie for their dad. Now, however, she was seriously pissed off with the man. Yes, he was worried about his son – but he had another son as well. And right now, Don looked pitiful enough to deserve his father's embrace, or at least not his accusations. He had buried his head in his hands, and Megan wasn't sure if maybe, he was crying.

"With all due respect, Alan, I think you have no idea how much Don tried to take care of Charlie these last few days."

"Well, he obviously wasn't very successful!"

"But it's not his job either!"

"Megan –"

She ignored her boss. "Charlie's an adult, he knows when he needs to take a break. And you should also know that it wasn't Don's idea to get Charlie to help on this case, he got involved very much on his own account. It's hardly Don's fault that Charlie failed to take care of his own physical needs."

She'd rendered the older Eppes silent, but apparently only fueled her boss's anger. "What are you doing? You're blaming Charlie now?" Now that he was directly looking at her, she could see that yes, his eyes were still dry, but she also couldn't miss the somewhat haunted expression in them. "He's lying in there, maybe fighting for his life, and after everything –" He stopped short, shaking his head as if to fend off an image that preyed on his mind. It took him a second before he could go on, "And now you blame him?"

Megan forced herself to stay calm, or rather, to get her calm back. How again had she managed to get in the middle of a family fight? "I'm not blaming him. But you can't blame yourself either, Don. Charlie's his own man, he's the one accountable for his own decisions and actions, not you. And he wasn't even working on something for us this time."

Before Don could find a reply, he saw Charlie's doctor approach and immediately gave him his full attention.

"You're all here for Charles Eppes? I'm Dr. Fletcher, his attending physician. Any family members?"

"I'm his father," Alan said before Don had found his voice.

When that was all he said, the doctor prompted, "Would you like to discuss your son's condition in privacy or –"

Alan's impatience got the better of him. "Just tell us what you know, they can hear everything you have to say."

Dr. Fletcher nodded. "Let's sit down," he said and when they did, he opened the file in his hands. "Your son is suffering from a severe case of pneumonia. He'll be with us for a few days, but we're optimistic that there won't be any lingering effects. Apart from the primary symptoms of the pneumonia, that is the fever, the cyanosis you may have noticed – you know, the bluish skin –, the cough, the respiratory problems and the increased level of inflammatory markers in his blood, he's suffering from other symptoms that may have played a part in bringing the pneumonia about, namely malnourishment and overall exhaustion. We suspect that he may have caught a bout of acute bronchitis which failed to heal properly, seeing the state your son's in probably because he neither got any treatment nor allowed his body the necessary rest when he fell ill. Can you confirm that?"

Alan nodded. "Sounds about right," he mumbled.

Dr. Fletcher became serious now. "This is something we do not want a repetition of. Even after Charles gets released, he will need to take things slow for another couple of weeks and he'll need to take better care of his body. Otherwise he'll be back in here before you know it."

Alan's voice was bitter when he answered, "Trust me, I'm aware of that. And I hope that Charlie will see this as his wake-up call."

"Well, he'd better. We put him in the ICU, primarily because of the fever and to decrease the risk of further infection. We are using a non-rebreather mask to support his breathing for now, but if we find that he can get enough oxygen on his own, we will switch to a nasal cannula later tonight. If everything goes according to our plans, we may move him to a regular room some time tomorrow. As soon as the antibiotics have started to kick in and the fever has sufficiently gone down, your son may continue his convalescence at home."

Alan nodded. "Can we see him?"

"You can, but I have to ask you to keep your visit short. What your son needs most right now is rest."

* * *

Few minutes later, they arrived at Charlie's room in the ICU. Don was just about to disinfect his hands when his father's quiet, yet stern voice stopped him. "I hardly think you should go in there. The doctor said he needs his rest."

Don stared at him. "Dad… what makes you think –"

"It's not that I don't trust you not to be able to shut up about your job for a couple of minutes," Alan interrupted him. His tone, however, left some doubt as to the amount of trust he really had in his eldest son. "But you know your brother, as soon as he sees you he'll be adamant to go back to whatever stupid case it is you're handling."

Okay, so his dad was still pissed. Don felt a hand on his upper arm and looked in a female face that seemed to be just as irritated. "Maybe it's a good idea if he goes in alone first. Let's check in with David and Colby in the meanwhile."

Don swallowed, hung his head defeated and let Megan lead him outside.

* * *

As soon as Alan stepped into the room and saw his youngest son amidst a conglomeration of machines, his strength and the façade he'd upheld until now left him. He sank into a chair next to his son's bed, took his hand in his, and let the tears come. Therefore, he was even a bit relieved that Charlie was sleeping. He couldn't have held his emotions back any longer.

He looked at his youngest son's calm, albeit flushed face, and had to fight a crying fit. Charlie looked beaten, defeated, utterly exhausted – but that wasn't even the worst part. Those things – the fever, the cough –, they would all subside with time and under the watchful eye of the medical personnel. Alan, however, knew that there was more that was vexing his son, there were things that weren't so obvious to the naked eye, and thus couldn't be treated with such comparative ease.

He'd known it the moment Charlie had come back from his trip. The look in his eyes had told him enough. Something had happened, something that still bothered Charlie, something that made him retreat to his mind and forget about his body. He knew that Charlie couldn't tell them what had happened, so he had stopped searching for the cause of his behavior and resorted to trying to treat the symptoms – without success. Then he'd noticed that Don knew something. Charlie must have told him what had happened, Alan could see it in their eyes, in how they wouldn't look at each other and search each other's eyes at the same time. They were keeping it from him, but that wasn't what bothered Alan. He could live with the fact that their bond with each other was stronger than their bond with him, the fact that they had become so close filled him with a happiness he couldn't find anywhere else. What bothered him was that Charlie's act of confiding in his brother hadn't made things better, but worse, and Alan just didn't understand why. And he couldn't for the life of him figure out why his eldest, instead of helping Charlie cope with whatever had happened, wasn't only tolerating, but even supporting his path of self-destruction. He _knew_ that Don cared more about his brother than about his job, and he _knew_ he was sometimes reluctant to ask him for his help because he thought he was using him. But then why would he do just that?

He felt a movement under his hand and hastily wiped his eyes. He was too slow. He was still trying to hide the tears when he saw Charlie's dark, solemn eyes looking up at him.

"Dad," he whispered and the sound was even more muffled by the oxygen mask.

"Hey there," Alan said quietly, trying his best to keep the emotions out of his voice. "How are you feeling, son? Do you need anything?"

Charlie looked at him for a few moments, obviously still having some difficulty to keep his eyes open. Then Alan heard the muffled sound again, "I'm sorry."

He felt the tears threaten anew. More than anything he wanted to tell Charlie that it was okay, that everything would be fine, but he knew he couldn't, not if he really cared about his son. Charlie had to understand that he couldn't do something like this again, that he had to take better care of himself. "You just concentrate on getting better, little one."

Charlie nodded slightly and, few seconds later, was back asleep.

* * *

Don was unaccountably nervous when he stepped into the hospital room the next day. True, his dad had eventually agreed to let him see Charlie last night, but he'd been sleeping then. Today, according to his dad, Charlie was much more alert and had already asked about the case. He had just been transferred and Alan had gone home – he needed some rest himself, having spent the night at the hospital –, and when Don had told his father that Charlie's work on the case was done and that he would make that abundantly clear to him, his dad had finally agreed to let him see him before he himself had to go back to work.

The fact was that they were still tying things up, but it was true that they didn't need Charlie's help anymore. He'd already done his part. When David and Colby had inspected his office yesterday after he'd collapsed, they'd found that he'd finished his analysis of the terrorists' most probable hideouts. Since then, they'd had agents staking out each of them and were planning a coordinated attack, which would probably take place tonight. Then this whole nightmare would be over.

Don paused. Would it? Would it ever be over for Charlie?

Two dark eyes and silence greeted him as he opened the door.

"Hey, buddy," Don said softly. "How are you doing?"

Charlie didn't answer that question. "Did you find the results of my analysis? Dad said he'd tell you where to find them."

He still sounded hoarse and had to stifle a cough every now and then, but he seemed much better than the past few days. Just the haunted look in his eyes was still there. "Relax, Charlie, David and Colby found everything long ago. The case is as good as closed."

Charlie nodded and a wave of relief washed over his face, but it was soon replaced by something more solemn, less relaxed. "So," he had to clear his voice, not that it helped much, "I guess this is it, then. My period of grace is over? You came here to talk to me about… what happened?"

Don let himself lower onto a chair next to Charlie's bed. Yes, that had been the deal. He just didn't think he could do this right now, neither to Charlie, nor to himself.

"I'm here if you want to talk, Charlie," he said earnestly. "But I won't push you until you're better."

Charlie nodded, avoiding his eyes. "Thanks." It was almost inaudible, and Don guessed that emotion played its own part at rendering talking for Charlie difficult.

"So, how are you doing today? I have to tell you, I'm glad to see that mask is gone." He indicated the place that now hosted a nasal cannula. "Looks much less scary."

Charlie just nodded, still avoiding Don's eyes. Don felt lost. He wanted more than anything to make Charlie feel better, he just didn't know how. Worse, he wasn't sure whether his mere presence wasn't upsetting Charlie, because despite Don's words, he might still feel pushed to talk about something he wasn't ready to talk about.

He waited another minute and decided that had to be it. "Alright, buddy, I'll see you later, okay?"

He gave Charlie's leg a squeeze and stood, but a voice held him back. "Don."

He looked down and was a bit taken aback by the miserable look on Charlie's face. That was nothing, however, compared to the expression in his eyes as he looked up earnestly at his brother. "I'm sorry."

Don frowned and quickly sat down again, grasping his brother's hand. "What for, Charlie? What's going on?"

"I… What I did… it wasn't fair to you. I knew you just wanted to help, but… I just couldn't do that at the time. I know I was a real jerk about… well, everything. But I never should have put you in that position, I shouldn't have… blackmailed you into tolerating how I treated myself. I'm sorry."

Don squeezed his brother's hand, suppressing the urge to say it was okay, because they both knew it wasn't. Instead, he said, "I understand, buddy. And I'm not mad at you. Just… please, don't pull a stunt like that again."

Charlie nodded earnestly. "I promise. I'll take better care of myself."

Don smiled. "Good. Tell Dad that sometime. He'll hold you to it." The smile had become a bit forced at the mention of his dad. Yes, after Megan had admonished him like that, he hadn't reproached Don again, but he hadn't shown any particular degree of forgiveness either. Or of repentance. Don knew that he hadn't been very successful at taking care of Charlie, but his father had to know that he'd at least tried, that he'd done his best to keep Charlie from hurting himself? Yesterday, however, it had sounded like he thought that Don had somehow spurred his brother on to work that hard, that he had put his job before Charlie's health, even though their dad had to know he would never do that.

"Something wrong? Something with Dad?"

The croaky voice pulled him out of his musings. "No, buddy, don't worry. Dad's fine."

Charlie frowned. "What's wrong?"

Huh. So his little brother had picked up on that.

Don sighed and ran his hands over his face. "Don't worry about it," he started, but when Charlie looked at him expectantly, he felt compelled to go on, "He just… He thinks I shouldn't have let you work on the case."

Charlie's frown was still there. "'Let me'?" he quoted. "He knows it was my decision."

"Yeah, well, it may have been, but it was my decision to let you go through with it."

Charlie's frown became deeper. "No, it wasn't. It wasn't your case. Plus, I didn't exactly leave you a choice." There was a moment of silence, then Charlie said, much softer now, "He doesn't blame you, does he?"

Don looked down at the white sheet over Charlie's legs.

Charlie stared at him wide-eyed. "Don… I'm sorry. I had no idea." He was silent for a minute. "I'm gonna talk to him." He swallowed and winced, apparently noticing how painful the reflex was. "I know you did all you could to keep me from… from doing that, and I know I was acting like a real jerk. I just… I couldn't stop it, it's like there was a whole other person inside of me taking control and hurting everyone around me –"

Before his brother could go on in his self-accusation, Don interrupted him, "Stop it, Charlie, it's okay. We all know you didn't mean it."

Charlie nodded and managed to get his composure back. He actually managed a slightly insecure smile. "I'm sure Dad didn't mean it either."

Don joined in that somehow sad smile. "Maybe not."

"I meant what I said, Don. I'm gonna talk to him. He needs to know what you did for me."

Don's smile became more sincere, and he lightly patted Charlie's knee. "You just concentrate on getting back on your feet, okay?"

Charlie nodded, but avoided Don's eyes. They were silent for a moment, but Don kept a watchful eye on his brother. And if he wasn't mistaken, Charlie was fighting hard to hold back tears.

"What is it?"

Charlie kept his silence a bit longer, and when he finally spoke, the desperation had crept back into his voice. "It's just… I don't know if I can do that. I don't know how. I don't know how I can make it go away."

"Hey," he tried to calm his brother. "Don't worry about that now. You just get some rest, okay?"

But it wasn't okay for Charlie. "What if this doesn't go away? Don, I… I can't go on living like this."

Don thought his heart stopped beating. Was Charlie saying what he thought he was saying? "Charlie…" He could feel tears on his own now, pressing against the backs of his eyes, and he squeezed his brother's hand more tightly. "You can't say that, Charlie, please…" His voice, choked to begin with, was now gone completely. He couldn't let this happen, he wouldn't let anything happen to Charlie, he'd protect him from everyone who tried to hurt him, even if it was Charlie himself.

A look of understanding crossed Charlie's face, and his eyes widened. "Wh-? No! No, Don, I'm not… That's not what I meant."

Don gave back that wide-eyed stare, but didn't relinquish his hold of Charlie's hands. "I'm sorry," Charlie whispered. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm not… I won't do something like that." His voice became more unstable. "I just… I just don't know what to do if this doesn't go away. I don't know what to do, Don."

The tears had sprung to Charlie's eyes, and Don let his other hand join his grasp around Charlie's fingers. "You're not alone, Charlie. I'm here for you, and so is everyone else. We won't let you go through this alone."

The tears were streaming down his face now. "What good could come from that? It'll only hurt you, _I'll_ only hurt you, just like I did these past few days. You'll soon get sick of trying, and you'll have every right to."

"Charlie, listen." Don had no idea what he was going to say, he just knew he had to stop his brother's pain. "You remember when Mom died?"

Charlie looked at him, confusion now seeping through the pain. "Of course."

"And does it still hurt as much as it hurt back then?"

Charlie shook his head. "No," he said and seemed to calm down a bit.

"See, that's what's going to happen here. It will not hurt like this forever, Charlie. This thing won't dictate your life if you don't let it. But you can't just wait for it to go away on its own, you have to fight it. You have to deal with your emotions, and you might wanna think about getting some professional help. But I promise you, you won't have to fight alone. We're all here for you, _I'm_ here for you. You just need to be open and honest with us." He bent down closer to his brother's face. "I know you can do that, buddy. You didn't cave in when they had you, and you won't cave in now. We can't let them win, and we won't."

Charlie nodded, wiping away the remnants of his tears. A look of determination had entered his face. He took a deep breath, locked eyes with his brother and said with conviction, "No, we won't."


	4. Dead

**Disclaimer:** It's weird, but Numb3rs and its characters still don't belong to me.  
 **Spoiler / Warning:** Or rather, no warning, because I don't know if the title makes you hope or fret, but there won't be a character death in the foreseeable future.  
 **Rating:** These stories are getting much darker than I originally intended (my sadism is just getting out of hands…), so this one is another M.  
 **Timeline:** early season 3  
 **A/N:** Sorry this took so long. One reason is that I changed both the title and the general plot several times, also to avoid repetition. Still, you might notice that this is a kind of spin-off to one of the previous chapters. I also tried a bit harder to include Amita and Larry in this story, as suggested by Kasadija957. They're still not central, but it's a start.  
I haven't decided on the next title yet, so if you have an idea, just PM me :)

* * *

 **Dead**

"Hey Liz! Wouldn't have expected to see you again so soon!" Don smilingly greeted his former… well, technically you might call her 'girlfriend'. Or maybe date. Date for a couple of times. Yeah, that sounded more like it.

"Yeah well, I just couldn't get enough of all of you," she replied with a cocky little smile.

By now, David, Colby and Megan had turned around to greet her as well. "What brings you here?" Megan asked.

"Well, my boss is still on a leave of absence, and now Janet is on maternity leave as well, so they decided to split the rest of us up and put us on other teams for a couple of weeks. I guess you're stuck with me for a while."

Colby theatrically rolled his eyes. "Man, we can not catch a break!"

"Watch it, Granger," Liz said grinning and boxed him in his shoulder.

"Ouch!" Colby went on acting.

"Okay, enough with that," Don cut them off, although he too was grinning. It was nice to see the team harmonize so well even with an additional member.

"At least your being here explains why they assigned this case to us," David piped up. He and Colby had just returned from the crime scene and had been about to present their most recent case to the rest of the team. "Shall we?" he asked and pointed towards the conference room.

Once they were settled, he began to present the information they'd gathered so far. "So last night, Daniel Spencer, 31, was shot at close range in an alley behind a club downtown. The bullet nicked the heart, the damage and the blood loss caused cardiac arrest an hour later."

"Oh my G-d," Liz exclaimed, a bit shocked, when the images of their victim appeared on the screen, "he was one of our informants!"

David nodded. "That's why this is a federal case. They think it may be linked to organized crime, and luckily, we now got an expert of Spencer's connections in that field."

Liz shook his head. "I don't understand. He wasn't actually part of a syndicate or some other scheme. He was a loner, he just gave us a tip every now and then concerning prostitution."

"How did he get that info if he wasn't involved himself?" Don asked.

"Hearsay, mostly. He was involved in drugs – not selling, or so he said, just using, I think cocaine, mostly – and when trying to get his stuff he was often offered… well, other services. Or he just forwarded us what was the word on the street."

"Anything recent? Anything important enough to get him killed?"

"That's it, I mean, he gave us tips quite readily, but they were far from being big revelations, just small indications to give us an idea where and when a raid might be useful, stuff like that. I can't imagine someone would kill him over that." Her expression changed, something must have occurred to her. "But two weeks… yeah, a bit over two weeks ago he asked us for – well, he actually called it an 'advance'. He must have had money problems, and since he didn't get the money from us, maybe we should take a look at that angle."

"There was no money found on the scene," David added. "His wallet had been emptied, save for his ID and driver's license and the sort."

"Alright," Don nodded. "David, you take a look at his bank account, the rest of us go over his most recent involvements in organized crime, just to be on the safe side."

* * *

Not even an hour had elapsed when David came back to the conference room to join the others. "You won't believe this," he said, his face grim.

"What's up?" Don asked. He couldn't quite place David's behavior.

"Daniel Spencer found a way to solve his money problems. Two weeks ago, he received a cash transfer of $3000 on his bank account. When I looked for other payments from the account the money came from, I found several others over the course of several years, all between $500 and $3000."

"Sounds like blackmail," Colby asked.

David stared at him with a look the others couldn't quite interpret. "That's what I thought at first."

"But?"

"But you might wanna reconsider your assessment when you hear who owns the account."

"What is this, a quiz?" Colby asked. "Come on, what's going on? Who paid him off?"

David first looked down at the table, then directly into Don's eyes. "The payments came from Charlie."

The silence was so thick that they had almost trouble breathing.

"What?" Don asked eventually, his voice unnaturally thin. He shook his head. "Come on, you must have made a mistake –"

"I double-checked, Don. And other than these payments to our victim, I couldn't find any suspicious activity on Charlie's bank account, at least not at first glance, so misuse doesn't seem all that likely."

"So what, you think my brother killed that guy because he blackmailed him?" Don didn't know what prompted him to be so hostile towards David, he almost felt like he should just laugh it off, but even in the shocked state he was in, he realized that the situation was much too grave for that.

David crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You know I don't think that. But I think you, or someone, should talk to him."

There were some further moments of silence. "Yeah," Don then said, but suddenly felt that his limbs were too heavy to get himself up from his chair, as if that might give him an excuse to avoid the inevitable. How the hell had his brother managed to get involved in this mess? Why on earth had he given their victim that kind of money? "Megan, you and I go to CalSci to find out about the money. In the meanwhile, the three of you should cover further angles. Right now, the organized crime leads seem rather thin, so try friends and family, see if something pops up there."

He felt four pairs of eyes glued to his back as he got up from his chair with some effort and left, headed for any place where he could get some air.

* * *

"Come on, Larry, surely that's not what he meant! You must have misunderstood something."

The door was open, and Charlie's voice floated out into the corridor.

"Oh no, my friend," that was Larry, "I can assure you that my description is quite accurate, although I must say, I can understand your disbelief."

Don knocked at the open office door and he and Megan stepped in. "Disbelief about what?" he asked, trying not to let it show in his features that they'd come for a serious matter.

"Larry just returned from a conference on supergravity theory," Amita explained smiling, though hardly turning her eyes away from the laptop sitting in front of her, "and he and Charlie are a little shocked about Professor Stevenson's view on the matter."

Don nodded with raised eyebrows, decided that he did _not_ want to hear more about that and stopped Larry short before he could delve deeper into the subject and vent on the scientific shortcomings of that Professor Stevenson. "Listen, guys, we need your help with something."

Just as always, Charlie lay down his chalk and brushed the dust off his hands at his jeans, eager to help wherever he could. "Sure, what's up?"

"Actually," Megan chimed in, "maybe we should discuss this privately with you, Charlie."

The three scientists collectively raised their eye-brows. Amita and Larry were just about to get up from their seats when Don held them back. "No, wait, maybe you can tell us something as well." He still thought it was their best bet that Charlie, if he knew him at all, knew their victim from somewhere around campus, how else should he have come in such close contact with someone with such a lifestyle? And if this was so, then Larry's and Amita's additional input might be very useful.

"Do any of you know this man?"

Since she was sitting between Larry and Charlie, Don put the picture on the table before Amita. Both she and Larry, standing behind her, started shaking their heads, but when Charlie came close enough to see the picture properly, he didn't hesitate a moment before answering, "That's Daniel."

Okay, that wasn't what Don had expected. "So you know him?" _On a first name basis?_ , he felt like adding, but held himself back. He knew he shouldn't be surprised, but until now, he had been almost certain that the connection they had found to Charlie had to be founded on some sort of misunderstanding.

Charlie stared at him as if he'd asked whether the sky was blue. "It's Daniel," he repeated. "Danny. Danny Spencer?" Apparently his face was still blank, for Charlie went on, "From down the street?"

 _Now_ the light-bulb had switched on. Still, he couldn't quite believe it. "That's Danny?" he asked and grabbed the picture to study it more intently than he'd done until now. He couldn't see it. "Are you sure?"

"That's an enlargement of the photo from his driver's license, right? So I guess you know his name by now."

Don shook his head thoughtfully, still trying to merge the two persons into one. He realized only now that he'd never known Danny's last name, and considering that the picture he was holding in his hand had absolutely nothing to do with the Danny he knew, he told himself that it was quite comprehensible that he hadn't made the connection.

"So how do you know this Danny, Charlie?" he heard Megan ask.

"They were best friends when they were kids," Don explained, still staring at the picture. He still had a hard time believing it. The haggard Daniel Spencer from the photo had little resemblance with the shy little boy from his memory. Danny had always seemed like a sweet child, and his blond curls, reminding him a little of Charlie's despite the color, used to make him look like a little angel. Now the curls were gone, as were the puffy cheeks. As was the life inside of him.

While he was still occupied with his thoughts, Charlie turned to Megan. "Why do you ask? Is he in trouble?"

He should have known that Megan wouldn't let herself be interrogated without turning the tables first. "Why would he be?"

His brother swallowed and looked back at the picture in Don's hands. "He has a tendency to mix with the wrong crowd."

"Do you know if there's anyone specific? Anyone who might have threatened him?"

Charlie shook his head and was just trying to form his next question into words when Megan interrupted him, "Maybe someone he's got debts to settle with? Is that why you gave him money?"

Another shake of the head. "No, I just helped him out – wait, how do you know that?"

He was searching Don's eyes and Don knew that look on his face, that plea for reassurance, for telling him that everything was alright because he'd just realized that it wasn't.

Don emanated a little sigh and put the picture down. He hated to have to do this. "Maybe you should sit down, buddy."

Charlie remained standing. "What happened?" His tone was demanding, even authoritative, but he couldn't ban the slight tremble from his voice.

There was no way to avoid this, and no sense in keeping him in suspense any longer. "I'm sorry, Charlie," Don said, and he was. "Danny's dead."

For a second, his brother just stared at him. Then he let himself sink in a chair and buried his face in his hands.

Don watched his brother's pitiful figure and felt his heart contract. He wanted so much to make him feel better, but he didn't think there was anything he could do. He swallowed, glancing nervously at the other people in the room, but all that the looks they gave him told him was that he needed to step up.

"Hey, buddy," he said and squatted down in front of him. His hand hovered over his brother's upper arm, unsure whether the contact would be welcome, and his mind felt like a hefty gust had just swept it empty. What was there to say in such a situation?

"How?"

Don was relieved, for the single word, even though its thick and muffled quality didn't help his heart contraction one bit, saved him from figuring out what to say.

"He was shot at close distance." He hesitated. "You have any idea who might have done that?"

Charlie shook his head. "I told you," he said, his voice a little raspy, "he had a tendency to mix with the wrong crowd, but I don't know any names of the people he hung out with."

"You knew he was using?"

At Megan's question, Charlie looked up at her and Don was a bit relieved to see that his brother's face was relatively dry. There was moisture in his eyes, but it hadn't broken free. Yet.

"Yeah, I mean, it was pretty obvious."

Don shook his head, still trying to comprehend what was going on. So Charlie was giving away money to a drug user who happened to be nobody else than little Danny from down the street? "I didn't even know you still had contact with him," he said a little bewildered. "I thought you stopped hanging out while you were still kids." Don could still recall a time when Danny would come over to their house almost every day, but he couldn't remember seeing him ever since he himself was twelve or thirteen, which would make Charlie and Danny seven or eight. He hadn't even been sure Danny was still living in the neighborhood.

"We kept in touch," Charlie said simply. "It became a bit challenging to spend time together, you know, with school and all the tutors and everything."

"Right, that was the time you started learning instead of living," Don said without thinking and a moment later, when the look in Charlie's eyes hit him, he would have liked to bite his tongue off. But his assessment was true, Danny had stopped coming over around the time when his little brother had become increasingly wrapped up in his math. He'd had so many appointments with so many different tutors that there were days when Don would see him only at dinner. He remembered that he'd even thought about talking to his parents about that, for Charlie had looked bad at that time, like it was all too much for him. But of course, Don had never said anything. After all, this was math, math was Charlie's thing and it was a part of his life that Don had – deliberately – nothing to do with. In the end, his parents must have realized they were putting to much pressure on their kid, because after a couple of weeks, things improved, Charlie didn't seem to have as much going on as before and started looking well again.

Now, however, Don wondered if he shouldn't have advocated for his brother after all, for it seemed like being so consumed by all his appointments with his tutors had cost him one of his closest friendships. Even worse, Don couldn't recall any friend from Charlie's childhood after Danny that would have been similarly close to him, and maybe Charlie's gift and its consequences were to blame for that as well. And now the only real friend he'd had was dead.

Megan stopped his train of thoughts. "So can you tell us anything about him, about his acquaintances, his job, his hobbies?"

Charlie shook his head. "I'm sorry. I can tell you he was always between jobs. He didn't like to put down roots anywhere. That's why I lent him the money, he'd quit his latest job and needed some help to pay his rent while he was looking for something else."

"$3000 is a pretty generous way to help," Megan observed.

Charlie shrugged. "He always paid me back."

"Fully?"

Charlie raised his head at that, and maybe for the first time that he'd ever looked at Megan, there was mistrust in his eyes. "You already checked his bank accounts. You know he was a bit behind on paying me back."

Megan decided not to tell him that they hadn't examined the victim's bank account that closely yet. Don thought that it was downright scary how she used the same tactics with Charlie that they used with their suspects. Then again, he knew she was just being professional, and to tell the truth, he was glad she was here to make sure they didn't mess up this investigation just because his brother was a witness. He wasn't sure whether he could have done that without her.

She went on, "But nevertheless, when he asked for more money, you gave it to him?"

"He was a friend!" Now Charlie was agitated, enough so to be unable to remain seated, and Megan had definitely lost some of the sympathy points she had with him.

She, however, didn't lose her calm. "And he told you he needed it to pay his rent?"

There was definitely some defiance in his voice when he answered. "I don't know, that's what he usually said, but I didn't ask him what he needed it for! But I know he only asked when he was in trouble and couldn't find another way out, so I helped him! Is that so bad?"

"Well, you know he might have used the money to buy drugs, Charlie," Don chimed in, trying to be the voice of reason.

Now, the angry stare was directed at him. "And if he did, who am I to reproach him?"

Don felt his jaw drop. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Charlie, you do realize those drugs could have killed him? Not only by OD'ing, but also because it got him into a dangerous crowd, so it's still a possibility that it's the drugs that got him killed! You should have known that being a friend would have meant not to tolerate his behavior, but to help get him away from this shit!"

In an instant, Charlie had taken the step that had separated them and was now standing directly before him, so that their noses almost touched. In any case it was close enough for Charlie's finger to poke his brother's chest. "Don't you dare judging our friendship, and don't you dare judging how I treated him!" His voice had become a dangerously low hiss. "You have no idea how hard I tried to get him away from this stuff, and you have no idea how hard it was to see him struggle all the time!"

He was breathing hard and Don was so shocked by his outburst that he was stunned to silence.

"Sorry that's all I can tell you," Charlie eventually said. His words came out quickly and his voice was flat, he was obviously having a hard time keeping it calm. "If there's anything else you need my help with, you know you just have to ask."

Before anyone could say another word, he strode out of his office, belying his words a little. Don stared after him, wondering what the hell had just happened.

* * *

When Charlie stepped back into his office, he was relieved to see that his brother and Megan were gone. Only two left to deal with.

"Sorry about that," he mumbled, avoiding to look at them.

Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see Larry shake his head. "Nonsense." His voice was very quiet, almost soothing. "Life and death are things the human mind is still unable to understand properly. Events that concern this matter… well, let's just say they tend to upset any one of us."

Charlie nodded, feeling that his throat was constricted too tightly for him to reply.

There was a moment of silence before Amita spoke up, still a bit hesitantly, "The two of you were close?"

He didn't answer at once. "We didn't see each other often," he finally admitted. "But when we did, we never had a problem understanding each other, even without words being necessary."

"So how come we haven't met this friend of yours? I don't think you ever even mentioned him."

Charlie shrugged. "I didn't think you would mingle too well. There wasn't much you had in common."

Amita raised her eye-brows. "But you had?"

Her question gave her another shrug. "We grew up together. You know how it is, sharing those early experiences somehow makes you closer." His next words came out a bit more croakily, "It builds a certain connection you can't find with anyone else."

Amita touched his forearm softly. "I'm sorry, Charlie."

"Yeah, everyone's sorry," he said a little gruffly. The hand on his arm drew back and he felt compelled to add, "Listen guys, I appreciate you trying to comfort me, but I'd really rather be alone right now."

Larry and Amita exchanged a glance, but surrendered.

* * *

"So, you've been awfully quiet ever since we left CalSci."

Don shot her a quick glance. She couldn't actually expect him to open up about how he felt about what had just happened, right?

There was a _ping_ and the elevator doors opened, which Don saw as a good opportunity to ignore Megan's comment.

"Listen," she started again as they stepped in to go up and join the rest of their team, "I know you're worried about Charlie and I know that's none of my business. But I'm wondering if I should be worried about you, too. You seemed a little shocked when you found out you knew the victim, and maybe it would be a good idea to hand off the case to someone else."

"That's what you're worried about?" Okay then, that was something he could deal with. "Look, that's nice of you, but I'm good. It's just that there's not much resemblance between the boy I knew and the man that was shot in that alley. I just…" He hesitated, but Megan wouldn't let it go anyway, so he should just get it over with. "He was a good kid, you know? Lived in a good neighborhood, went to a good school, had a nice home, a nice family… I just don't understand why he would throw that all away and lead the kind of life he had."

"Some people just don't want the opportunities that are offered to them because they wouldn't let them become who they are," Megan remarked wisely.

Don gave her another side-glance. "Talking from personal experience there?"

They'd reached their floor and the elevator doors opened, so she was let off easily. "We all get our share in life," she said smiling and quite cryptically. Apparently she and Larry were spending a little too much time together.

When they got nearer to their cubicles, Liz, Colby and David stood from their desks and presented what seemed like a pretty grim welcoming committee.

Don frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Let's go in there," David said quietly and led them into the conference room.

Megan and Don looked at each other with confusion and some trepidation, but followed them without a word.

"So?" Don asked when nobody said anything. "I assume you found something?"

Liz looked back and forth between Colby and David, David looked at Colby, and Colby bit the bullet. "We did," he said, sighing heavily. "And it's bad."

Don raised his eyebrows. "I guess it won't get better if you stall telling us."

Colby nodded, looking a bit beaten. "So we checked his family background," he started. "And we found out that Daniel's father, Randell Spencer, spent most of the past 25 years in prison."

Don frowned. "What? That can't be right." Danny's dad had always seemed like a nice guy. And 25 years ago, Danny and Charlie had still been friends, so surely he would have heard about Mr. Spencer going to prison.

"A bit over 23 years ago," Colby continued without paying much attention to Don's objection, "he was sentenced to 13 years of prison. Apparently he had some problems getting re-acclimated in society when he got released, for after that, he was more back in than out. First he got three years for armed robbery on a gas station, and only a year after he got out again, he got another five years for armed robbery on a jewelry store, where one of his accomplices shot and injured their victim."

"That can't be right," Don repeated. "You got a picture of your Mr. Spencer?"

They had and Don had to admit that the two Mr. Spencers that seemed to be there were indeed only one person. True, prison had changed his looks, he had lost some of his once handsome features and seemed to have aged more than the time span would account for, but it was unmistakably Danny's dad from down the street. It only now occurred to him that after Danny stopped coming over, he had hardly seen Mr. Spencer anymore, actually, he couldn't recall even one time he had, and now that made sense.

"Alright," Don said and ran his hands over his face, trying to take it all in, "so what about that first sentence? 13 years for what?"

Colby licked his lips. "Child abuse," he finally said, very quietly.

Don gaped, shocked. "Danny was abused?" he said, almost in a whisper. He would have never expected that. Sweet little Danny, abused? But now that he thought about it, he wondered why he was so surprised. Danny had always been extremely shy, extremely uncomfortable with physical touch. And extremely often over at their house.

"Shit," Don muttered, supporting his head with his hands. The signs had all been there, he just hadn't seen them.

"Ongoing abuse for almost two years," Colby continued, his voice sounding a bit hollow. "Apparently the mother never knew, or so she said. It only came before the court in 1983, when your mom stepped in."

Don's head came up. "My mom? She never told me that." Then again, it made sense. Danny and Charlie had been friends, at least until 1983, which was the year when Charlie had turned eight, so if Mrs. Spencer started suspecting something, if she started suspecting _her husband_ of something like _that_ , it made sense that she would turn to a lawyer she knew and trusted. Enter Margaret Eppes, the attorney for the weak and helpless.

When Don realized that nobody had said a word for a while, he looked around, confused. "What?"

He noticed that none of them was looking at him, except for Megan, who, as he realized with shock, had tears in her eyes. "What is it?" he repeated, anger, fueled by fear, rising inside him. What were they all so upset about? What was he missing?

Colby cleared his throat and went on. "Don, the reason your mom stepped in was that in the summer of 1983, Mr. Spencer molested another child."

Colby was looking up now, right into Don's eyes, and the pain and regret Don saw in them made his chest contract. He started shaking his head, he knew that Colby was trying to tell him something, that he was trying to convey the information as gently as he could, but he couldn't be trying to say… no, that was just not possible.

"Don – Charlie was the other child that was molested."

 _No._

Don was still shaking his head, trying to make Colby and his words disappear, trying to wake up, for this had to be a bad dream.

"No," he heard someone say, and a second later realized that the croaky sound must have come from himself. "That… No. I would have known."

When nobody answered, he looked around, feeling suddenly hot and dizzy, waiting for somebody to tell him that they'd made a mistake, that it wasn't true.

"I'm sorry, Don."

Don looked into Colby's face and felt an inconceivable urge to punch him. There was nothing to be sorry about, there couldn't be anything to be sorry about, Colby should just shut his mouth and tend to his own business, for Charlie wasn't… he couldn't…

Before Don lost control, he shot up from his chair and strode out of the room, away from them. They had to be mistaken. Don would have known if something like that had happened. Hell, they were talking about something that had happened more than twenty years ago, there was no way that Charlie could hide something from him for this long, especially not something like that. And his mother, she would have been keeping it a secret from him as well, and if she knew, his dad must have known, too. There was just no way…

Don bit his lip and knew he was fighting a lost battle. He knew he was in denial, and he knew it was true, even though it couldn't be.

The moment the realization hit, he felt a tearing sensation in his chest that made it difficult for him to breathe. He was suddenly filled both with a feeling of loss that he couldn't quite explain and with an overwhelming sense of inadequacy. He hadn't known, he'd been living most of his life unaware of what had happened right under his nose, of what that pervert had done to his little brother, he'd had no idea that there was a big black secret lying underneath each family dinner, each morning goodbye, each trip to the park.

Suddenly, his cell phone was in his hands and he watched his fingers trying to call his brother. He needed to hear his voice, he needed to see him, he needed to feel him close. Before the call connected, though, he hung up, suddenly scared beyond measure. What should he say? What _was_ there to say?

He took some deep breaths, leaning heavily against the balustrade outside the FBI building, dimly wondering how exactly he'd gotten here. He had to get his head back together. He couldn't afford to lose it. He had to get his wits back together. That thing had happened a long time ago, there was nothing he could change about that now. In the meanwhile, real life continued and he had a murder to solve. For Danny. For Charlie.

He was still feeling a little shaky when he returned to the bullpen. He could sense his team's concerned looks upon him, and it made him feel uncomfortable. They had stepped over a boundary. They had entered into his private life, into a part that should have been dealt with within the immediate family.

Technically within the whole family.

"Let's just not talk about it, alright?" he muttered without looking at any of them. Since he wasn't looking at them, he wasn't sure how they reacted, but in any event, they did what they were told and returned to their desks. "Megan and I are going to continue with following leads connected to organized crime, the three of you go on looking into his private life."

It worked for a while. But Don should have known that as soon as he went for a coffee, he was followed by a second shadow.

"You should talk to him, you know," Megan said quietly when they were alone in the break room.

Don put down the teaspoon with more force than was necessary. "And what should I say, according to you? 'Hey pal, sorry you got raped'?!"

Her calm was an antipole to his irritation. "He wasn't raped, he was molested."

That was enough. "Oh right, thanks Megan!" he shouted at her. "Now that helps! I just tell him how glad I am that he _only_ got molested!"

Megan's mouth was only a thin line. "You know that's not what I meant."

He forced himself to breathe before he answered. "That's exactly why I don't wanna talk to him." There was still a healthy amount of irritation in his voice, but at least he wasn't shouting anymore. "There's no upside. I could only say the wrong things." _And hurt him even more_ , he silently added.

"So what, you just want to pretend you don't know? You know that's not going to work."

He was silent.

Before he could say anything, David stormed into the room. "Ballistics came back, they matched the bullet to the weapon used in the armed robbery on the jewelry store five years ago, where Daniel's father was one of the robbers."

"His father shot him?" Megan asked, confused.

Don didn't care. If that was where the evidence pointed them, he'd find the guy first and ask for his motives later. "Alright, grab Colby and check his home, Liz and I will go to his workplace; Megan, you stay here and find out everything you can about him. And David, keep me posted, if he's not at either of those two places, we put an APB out on him."

* * *

Charlie was staring at the desk in front of him, seeing nothing. He was still filled with a feeling of utter emptiness which he didn't know how to make disappear. Danny… He'd always been afraid that something like this would happen. Danny hadn't lived a life that could go smoothly for long. Actually, things had never gone smoothly for him.

And again, just like he always did when thinking about Danny, he wondered if there wasn't something he could have done differently, if he'd really tried everything to help his friend. Of course he'd tried to convince him to get away from the drugs, to settle down, to talk to his mother again, to get help, accept help… all in vain. But maybe his real fault lay way back, maybe he should have realized sooner what was going on with Danny and his dad. Sure, rationally Charlie knew that he'd only been a kid himself, that there was probably no way he could have known – hell, even Danny's mom hadn't known. Rationality, however, did nothing to assuage his feeling of guilt.

Charlie sighed and stood from his chair a bit shakily. He shouldn't sit here alone in his dark office all evening, he shouldn't let the dark thoughts drown him. That was no healthy behavior, and he knew it. He knew that shutting people out wouldn't make this better, but only worse. Besides, there was nothing he needed more right now than his father's hug.

With his heart still heavy, but his mind eased a bit by the prospect of returning to a warm and welcoming home, he walked toward his car. The parking lot was empty, it was Friday evening and most people seemed to have better things to do than hanging around campus. Therefore, Charlie was quite surprised when he heard someone call out his name.

He turned around and in the waning light of dusk, his eyes took a moment until they enabled him to recognize the man coming towards him. Even when he did, he was sure he was mistaken. This couldn't be happening.

"Hey, Charlie," the man said again, now being only a couple of yards away from him. "Nice to see you again."

Charlie was rooted on the spot, unable to move, unable to form any coherent thought. "What are you doing here," he said and wouldn't have recognized his voice himself, it was low and raspy and shaky. Filled with fear.

"I want my due," Mr. Spencer said and was suddenly holding a gun in his hand. "You're going to help me out, Charlie, financially. It's only fair."

Charlie was shaking his head, confused, scared, unable to react properly or to even understand what was happening.

"Now get into your car. We're going to find an ATM. I'm happy to hear that you're a professor now, you must make quite a decent salary."

Charlie was still shaking his head, but had found his voice again. "You must be out of your mind." Or at least he had found _a_ voice again, for this certainly wasn't his.

"I can assure you, I'm not," Mr. Spencer said in something that had much resemblance with the charming, soothing tone he'd once had. "I'm merely asking you to correct what you did to me."

Now anger made him speak. "What I did to you? What _I_ did to _you_?! You…" Charlie wanted to go on in his venting, wanted to shout at that man for as long as he could, but there were no words in his head.

"You ruined my life," Mr. Spencer said and all of a sudden his voice was ice cold. "You ratted me out to the police, and after that, I was an outcast. Even after I did my time, who would hire a child molester, huh? I got no job, I got no money, and I had to find other ways to stay alive. There was no coming back to society, what they really gave me was a life sentence, and it's your fault, yours and Danny's."

Charlie was shaking his head again, his mind empty, filled with only one voice, one that sounded strangely like Danny's and that kept shouting at him, _He did it! He did it!_

"You killed him, didn't you?" Charlie whispered, wondering dimly if his voice could be heard over the painfully rapid beating of his heart.

"It was an accident," Mr. Spencer said and try as he might, Charlie couldn't discern one bit of regret in his voice. His blood began boiling. "I asked him to help me out, I'm his father, for G-d's sake! He should have had more respect for me! But he just told me to fuck off." He had talked himself into a rage, but a moment later, he was calm and his voice as cold as ice again when he added, "The gun went off when we fought, there was nothing I could do."

"You killed him," Charlie whispered again and suddenly lost all his fear and qualms and rationality. "You killed him!" he shouted and pushed hard against the other man's chest so that he stumbled backwards. "You raped him and abused him and ruined his life and then you killed him!"

He was still trying to push him away, regardless of the gun in his hand, but the other man wouldn't go down that easily. Without knowing where it came from, Charlie's head suddenly exploded with white light and he stumbled backwards against his car. When he realized that Mr. Spencer had just punched him in the face, he wanted to get up, to start fighting back, but the other man was already on top of him, and the cold muzzle of his gun was pressed against his temple.

"You little piece of shit," he hissed and Charlie winced when the gun was pressed harder against the side of his head. "You –"

Suddenly, he was gone, and it took Charlie the fracture of a second to realize that a third party had entered their fight.

"Get away from him!" Don shouted, quite unnecessarily since he'd already pulled him off of Charlie. "Leave him alone, you pervert, or I swear to you, I'm gonna kill you!"

Charlie shuddered. He'd never heard Don shout in that tone, with that kind of rage. He seemed to be beyond reason. By now he'd managed to bring Mr. Spencer down on the ground and started hitting him in the face and torso.

"Don," Charlie said, trying to get to his feet, but Don didn't seem to hear him.

"Don!"

Mr. Spencer's nose and lips were bloody and Charlie wasn't sure if he was even conscious. He grabbed his brother's arm.

"Stop it," he said, but Don jerked out of his grip, and Charlie made a decision, moved by fear. Whatever happened, Don couldn't end up killing this man.

With all the force and momentum he could muster, he pushed Don off Mr. Spencer's motionless body until they lay there on the ground beside him. But only a second later, Charlie could feel Don's struggles start anew, and he hastened to get to look into his eyes, for he knew that now, without an element of surprise, he wouldn't have another chance of holding Don back by using physical strength.

"Don," he said fiercely, intently staring into his eyes, "don't."

He was still grabbing Don's arms, trying to hold him back, but when he stared into his big brother's eyes, there was a pain there he'd hardly ever seen before, and he realized: Don knew. He'd gone berserk, he'd hit that man half unconscious, he'd called him a 'pervert'. He knew.

"Don't move! What's going on here?"

Charlie flinched and both he and Don turned around to the owner of the voice who, in the growing darkness, was flashing a light at them.

"Professor Eppes was attacked by this man," Don explained as he stood with deliberately slow movements. His voice still didn't sound like him, it was too breathless, too flat. "I happened to witness the attack and pulled him off him. I'm with the FBI, I'm going to show you my badge now, alright?"

By now, Charlie too had recognized the newcomer by his uniform as one of CalSci's security guards and, a bit relieved, struggled to get up as well.

"Oh, it's you, Professor?" the guard said and now Charlie recognized the voice. By now his eyes had become accustomed to the bright light so that he could see his face, too. He didn't know his name, but they'd met frequently enough when he'd stayed at his office to work for long into the night. In any case, the guard knew him well enough not to consider him a threat and so he took a second to inspect Don's badge. "Are you alright?" he then asked Charlie.

Charlie had by now managed to scramble to his feet and nodded. "I'm okay, but you should probably call an ambulance for him." With a nod of his head, he indicated Mr. Spencer who was still lying on the floor wincing. He was a bit curled up, apparently Don had effectively hit his liver.

"And the LAPD, I presume," he said, but Don cut him off, "That won't be necessary. My team's going to handle it; he's a suspect in a murder investigation."

The guard had his eyes widened, but set to his task of calling an ambulance while tending to the man on the ground, which gave the brothers a moment of privacy.

"Are you okay?" Don asked in so low a voice that Charlie had difficulty understanding him. He wouldn't have needed his words though, the look in Don's eyes belied his worry, and the emotion Charlie could see there told him beyond a doubt what his brother was hinting at.

He nodded. "You should call your team," he said quietly and still had difficulty recognizing his own voice. This was surreal. Mr. Spencer, the monster of the nightmares of his childhood, the man he'd been avoiding thinking about for years, was lying on the ground before him, and soon Megan and David and Colby and Liz would be here to arrest him for the murder of his own son, for Daniel's murder, because Daniel was gone and now there was no one who could really understand him, but suddenly everyone seemed to know about what had happened.

Charlie could feel that his knees were starting to tremble and knew he needed to give himself a break. "I'm just gonna sit in my car for a while," he informed Don as he was already on his way to the safety of his car, luckily a few yards away from Mr. Spencer.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he was sitting down. His head was heavy all of a sudden and as he supported it with his hands, he was glad to see how cool they were. He felt suddenly hot, the cheek where Mr. Spencer had hit him started burning and his head didn't feel quite right. He could feel a headache coming.

"Charlie."

He looked up and was confronted with his brother's eyes and, which was worse, with the emotion they held.

He looked away. He couldn't do this. Not now, not with the team here in a few minutes, not with the guard overhearing them and certainly not with Mr. Spencer being around.

"Can you just let me sit here until they come?"

He could feel Don's uneasiness and he could hear it in his tone. "Sure," he said and Charlie tried to ignore the sadness in his voice. He knew that this had to be hard for Don, he could feel that his big brother was lost and struggling to regain control over something that had never been in his hands to change. In his mind, he promised him they would talk. Just not right now.

* * *

Don swallowed hard as he turned away from his brother. It physically hurt him to do that, but it hurt him just as much to see Charlie in such a state and to know what he'd gone through. He knew he needed to help him, to do something, _anything_ , to make him feel better, but what could he do if Charlie wouldn't even let him talk to him?

For Don, it felt like eternity until his team finally arrived, although it couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes. He was set on keeping them away from him, on protecting Charlie from their invasive questions, but he wouldn't have needed to worry. With few words it was soon agreed that the four of them would take care of the situation and wait until the next day to take Charlie's statement. There was no hurry, after all, they already had enough evidence to detain Mr. Spencer for the night. Don was more than satisfied with that arrangement, for it enabled him to take care of his brother, just like he'd planned when he'd decided to come here. He shuddered at the thought of how differently things might have turned out if he had postponed trying to talk to him for another bit, as he'd initially intended to do.

"Hey buddy," he said quietly. He was squatting down before Charlie who was still sitting in his car, head bent down. He refrained from touching him, not sure how his brother might take it, and had to fight hard to adhere to his restraint. "Hey… what do you say about some pizza and beer at my place?"

Charlie's head came up and Don was relieved to see that his eyes were dry and the swelling in his face hadn't increased. "Don't you need to stay?"

He shook his head. "The team's going to handle everything," he said. "Come on, I'll give you a ride."

He wasn't sure whether he should be glad or concerned that his brother consented without arguing, but decided that it didn't really matter. Charlie was coming with him, he was going to help him, and they would be fine.

They would, wouldn't they?

He'd just started the engine when he was surprised to hear Charlie speak, "Are you going to get into trouble for beating him up?"

Don shook his head, a little bewildered that Charlie would decide to talk about something as relatively trivial as that. "I was acting in defense," he then replied. "The parking lot's security cameras will show that. Besides, it didn't look like he's seriously hurt." _Even though he should be_ , he added, silently, because he knew how strictly his brother was opposed to violence. But hell, when he thought about what that little piece of shit had done to two little boys, to his own little brother… Not to mention having first shot and then robbed his own son instead of trying to save his life.

Charlie nodded and fell silent again, and since Don had still no idea how to start the conversation they needed to have, the rest of the ride was spent in silence.

They'd hardly entered Don's apartment when Charlie asked if he could take a shower. Don frowned, a bit surprised by the request. "Sure," he then said.

"And maybe I could borrow a change of clothes? Mine got a bit muddy in the fight."

Don nodded. "No problem, I'll get you something."

Thirty minutes later, the pizza was there, but Charlie was still in the shower. Don bit his lip. What was Charlie doing in there? Trying to drown himself?

Not sure whether he was doing the right thing or putting too much pressure on his brother, he knocked on the door. "Charlie? Pizza's here. You almost done?"

He could hear the water being turned off. "Yeah, sure. I'll be there in a minute."

Don gave a small sigh of relief, but the weight on his chest hadn't completely left. Even now, this was beyond awkward, and they hadn't even begun talking yet. Maybe this whole idea was one big mistake.

Charlie stepped out of the bathroom one minute later, fully clothed, though still drying his hair with a towel. "Sorry about that," he said without looking at Don and sat down on the couch beside him. Or rather, at the other end of the couch. "It's just… It was like I could still feel where his hands touched me during the fight. Sorry."

Don's mouth was hanging open. Shit. How the hell was he supposed to react to that? This was a mistake, he couldn't do this, there was no way he could deal with this, there was no way he would be able to help Charlie.

"It's okay," he finally managed, wanting to slap himself in the face with every meaningless syllable that came out of his mouth. "Don't apologize."

Charlie nodded. "You haven't started yet?" he asked with a glance at the closed pizza box.

Don thought he was going to cry. How could his brother jump from talking about a traumatic experience to meaningless chitchat in a matter of seconds? "No," he said and could feel that his throat had become rather tight.

"You said something about beer?"

"Sure." He hastily stood and practically bolted to the fridge as though it held a life-saving antidote.

Charlie accepted the beer and the first slice of pizza and started eating without saying anything else. Don was lost. On any given day, figuring out how Charlie's mind worked was a challenge, although Don thought he was generally doing a pretty good job at it. Today, however… Having discovered that his brother and for that matter his entire family had managed to hide a life-altering experience from him had either made him lose all confidence in his abilities, or he'd just lost the abilities themselves because their object wasn't his little brother Charlie anymore, but that poor little boy that had been molested by a family friend.

"Non-alcoholic," Charlie read with raised eye-brows, eyeing the bottle thoughtfully and still not looking at him. "You're sure you're my brother?"

 _No!_ , Don wanted to scream, for he was almost certain that the man sitting next to him couldn't be his. How could Charlie sit here, like nothing had happened, eating pizza when Don was sick only from looking at it?

"Makes sense on the days I'm on call," Don said eventually and decided he had to do something, for who knew what was going on in Charlie's head, but he, Don, certainly couldn't go on doing this. "So… do you wanna talk about it?"

There was a moment of silence and Don was sure he'd blown it. He'd pushed Charlie too hard. He'd broached a subject for which his brother wasn't ready.

"I don't know," Charlie said and Don was relieved to hear that he was still calm and the question apparently hadn't upset him further. He brother was silent for a moment, but eventually asked, "Do you wanna hear about it?"

Don gave him a crooked smile. "I don't know." Did he really want to hear what that pervert had done to his brother? _Could_ he hear about that? On the other hand, how could he live with not knowing, worse, with knowing that something had happened, but not knowing what? "Actually I do. I do wanna hear about it."

Charlie nodded. "Alright," he said and seemed rather business-like. But if that helped him dealing with it, Don would roll with it. Or try. "So it was the first week of summer holidays," he started and Don wasn't sure if he wasn't already regretting this. What if having to talk about this would make Charlie fall apart? What the hell was he supposed to do then? Right now, his brother emanated an amount of composure that was almost eerie, for it had to consume away his entire strength so that soon, there might be nothing left of his intelligent, rational little brother. But now that Charlie had started, Don just didn't have the heart to stop him, and neither was he sure he'd be able to talk, so he forced himself to sit there and listen to his brother's story. "You were in summer camp then, remember? You hadn't been talking about anything else for weeks before going, and I was so jealous because I was too young to go too. Anyway, one day when Mr. Spencer came by to pick up Danny, they started talking about a camping trip they would go on over the weekend, and Danny invited me to come with them. I guess he hoped that if I came with them, his dad would leave him alone."

He was silent for a moment, obviously caught up in his memory, in the thrill of anticipation he must have felt about the trip. "Anyway," he said and had to clear his throat, "you can imagine that Mom and Dad were pretty excited at the prospect of having me do something normal and spend some time outside, so I had no trouble getting them to agree. In hindsight, I'm not sure how Mr. Spencer thought about his son's idea, but I guess there was nothing he could do to get out of taking me with them."

When he didn't go on, Don gave his brother a side-glance. Charlie was staring at his beer bottle and seemed to be far away with his thoughts. Don shuddered at the sight, at the earnestness Charlie emanated, and wondered if he should tell him to stop. Before he could find something to say, however, his brother went on.

"We drove up into the mountains Saturday morning. It was a wonderful day, one of the best in my life. There was a beautiful lake and we were in the water for hours. I remember I thought Mr. Spencer was pretty cool, you know, he was in the water with us, fooling around with us and everything."

He swallowed hard and Don felt nausea rise inside him, thinking of that pervert watching his brother's and Danny's little bodies in the water, appraising them, touching them…

"Then, when evening came, we made a campfire. For me, it was all pretty exciting. We pretended being cowboys, out alone in the middle of the prairie. It was… really nice. And then… then we would all go into the tent."

He paused again and Don could see he had his eyes closed. "At first I didn't understand. He was helping me to change into another T-shirt for the night. I told him I could do it on my own, but he… He wouldn't stop. Then he… he pulled down my boxers and… touched me. I told him to stop, I was shouting at him, but he would just hold me down and go on… doing that. Danny started shouting at him too, but Mr. Spencer just pushed him away and went on. When he was finished, he bent down so close to me that our cheeks touched and whispered into my ear, 'If you tell anyone, you'll pay. I'm gonna kill your mom first, then your dad, and then your brother.' I was so scared I couldn't say anything, but I can still hear the words in my head as if he was sitting right here between us."

He was silent and Don tried to wipe his eyes without Charlie noticing. Until now, Charlie's voice had been scarily calm, a little raspy and hesitant sometimes, but from his voice alone, Don wouldn't have been sure whether or not there were tears in his brother's eyes too. When he went on, however, the calmness made way to a more trembling tone.

"He was done with me then," Charlie continued. "He just pushed me away into a corner of the tent and said, 'Now look how it's done properly.' And then… then he continued with Danny." At that, Charlie ran his hands over his face, and now there was no doubt that there were tears in his eyes. "At first I didn't do anything, but then I shouted at him and told him to stop and tried to get him off of Daniel. But he was stronger and he hit me and then… I was just too scared, Don. I didn't do anything. I was lying curled up with my eyes closed tightly as far away from them as I could and listened to Danny being raped."

Don didn't even think. He laid his arm around Charlie's shoulders and pulled him close. His curls were still a little wet and the water mingled with their tears.

"When it was over," Charlie continued, his voice hoarse, "we just lay there in the dark, waiting for the morning. And then…" He swallowed. "It was scary. He acted as if nothing ever happened. He was making jokes and fooling around with Danny… I was so confused. I couldn't stop crying, but he came towards me and repeated his threats from the night before and said that there was nothing to tell and that I should just stop acting out and behave normally. Eventually I stopped crying, but I still felt… I don't know. Wrong. Like it wasn't really me who was there at the lake pretending that everything was fine, or like it had never really happened. It was weird, it was like there were suddenly two distinct persons inside me. Anyway, in the evening, he brought me home. I thought I would cry again as soon as I saw Mom, but I found that I couldn't. I was just empty inside. Of course Mom and Dad wanted to know about the split lip I'd gotten when he'd hit me that night, but he just said me and Danny had gotten into a fight. You should have heard him talking, it was amazing how he could use his charm to get away with everything. Then he and Danny went home and… I guess Mom had suspected something right from the moment I came home. No way fooling her. They had hardly left the house when she asked me what was wrong and… well, I crumbled. I told her everything and from that moment onward, she wouldn't stop fighting until he was behind bars."

When he realized that it was over, that Charlie was done, Don swallowed hard. He'd actually managed to make it through it. He hadn't lost himself in a crying fit, just spilled a few tears, and he hadn't emptied his stomach, just felt like doing it. Now it was over, he knew what had happened, so now he could… do what? Help Charlie? But how? How was he supposed to be there for his brother when he himself didn't know how to feel, when he felt just like his little brother had all those years ago, empty inside?

It was only then that he realized what he was doing. He still had his arm around Charlie's shoulders. He was making physical contact with Charlie, he was establishing a physical relationship with someone who'd suffered child abuse. Not just someone, but his own little brother. Dismayed, he shrank back and pulled his arm away, searching for words that might make it better again.

"Look, Charlie, if there's anything…" Those weren't the words. They were meaningless, hollow. "I mean –"

"Relax, Don," his brother cut him off. "You don't have to walk on eggshells around me. I'm okay, I'm not going to fall apart now. You're not the first person I'm telling this."

The worry must still have been evident in his eyes, for Charlie continued, "Look, it's true that talking about it brings back bad memories, but I can deal with that. I worked hard to learn to deal with that, believe me. Or do you really think Mom would have stopped dragging me to psychotherapy if she thought I wasn't better?"

Don frowned. "You went to psychotherapy?"

"Of course. For several months. In hindsight, I guess it was a bit much, especially in the beginning, with the court dates on top of it. And when you came home from summer camp, it became another challenge to keep those appointments a secret from you."

"Why?" Don asked, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Charlie shrugged. "I… I couldn't. It was hard enough already being your little brother and trying to get your appreciation or at least being accepted, not just by you. Everyone was already seeing me as small and weak and vulnerable. I guess I just didn't want to give them something to strengthen their beliefs."

Don shook his head. "I don't think you're weak. Hell, you –"

"I was talking about when you were twelve, Don. I know you saw me as inadequate then. And I was, I was usually the youngest and smallest in any group, of course I wasn't as apt physically."

"Still. You should have told me. I could have helped you."

Charlie sighed. "You were twelve, Don. Even Mom and Dad agreed that there was no sense in telling you. It would have just upset you, so we kept it between us. I'm not sorry we did that, Don. I'm just sorry you had to learn about it now."

Don was silent for a moment. True, he could understand his family's motives for keeping this from him, and maybe they were right in not wanting to burden a twelve-year-old with that kind of knowledge. But he wasn't twelve anymore. They could have told him later. They might not have seen a reason to do so, not when Charlie was apparently coping well with what had happened, but it still felt wrong being the only one in his family not knowing something like that.

"I'm not," he therefore said and was silent for another second to repeat with even more conviction, "I'm not sorry you finally told me." He paused. "So when you told me you were having an appointment with one of your tutors, you actually went to psychotherapy or to court?"

"Sometimes," Charlie nodded. "I still had the appointments with the tutors as well, even though Mom wanted to cut them back. I still can't believe I actually managed to make her change her mind, but you know me," he gave Don a sheepish grin, "there's no better way to ease my mind than solving math puzzles."

Don tried hard to grin back, but had to realize it turned out more like a grimace. He for one had no trouble understanding how his stubborn little brother could have managed to change the mind of his equally stubborn mother. He imagined that after what had happened, she would have consented to almost anything he demanded.

"I tried to convince Daniel to get some help, too," Charlie continued, more serious again. And sadder, Don noticed with a stab at his heart. "You know, to talk to someone, a professional or a self-help group or something. I mean, the two of us talked, but we didn't really talk about it, more… around it. I don't know, it was weird after it happened. I guess we were both feeling a little guilty, he for unknowingly dragging me into this, and me… well, you know. But on the other hand, it felt good to be together, to be there for each other, because we both felt there was nobody else who could really understand what it was like, because nobody else had been there. Now… I don't know. I know it's stupid, but I just feel like… I feel like with Daniel dead, some part of me has gone as well. I don't know, I guess it was just really important for us both to know that we had someone we could talk to with complete openness, that we were not alone, so we never strayed too far from each other." He swallowed. "It was hard to see him struggle and to see what he did to his body, but I didn't feel like there was any more I could do for him. I tried to convince him to go to therapy, I told him how much it helped me, how much my mom helped me and that he should think about trying to forgive his, but… He didn't want that. He always thanked me for caring, but told me I couldn't understand and that what had worked for me couldn't work for him."

"Why not?" Don asked and was a bit startled himself. He'd been silent for so long that he was hesitant to talk and interrupt his brother. But now that he'd started, he couldn't stop himself from going on, "Who could understand him better than you? You went through the same ordeal –"

"Are you kidding?!" Don flinched at his brother's upset tone. "What happened to us was by no means comparable! Do you have any idea what Daniel went through? He was abused by his father for _two years_. Two years, Don! Two years during which he was not only molested, but _raped_ , several times! And he was abused _by his own father_! His own father, can you imagine that? Can you imagine Dad doing something like that to us? And Danny had to live with that for two years, he had no one to go to, and he had no place to feel safe." Charlie's summation started losing some of his force as his voice became more tearful. "Can you imagine that, being home and not feeling safe? Having no place to go to where your parents protect you from everything bad? Having no place on earth where you feel safe?"

Now, for the first time that evening, Charlie lost his composure. The tears were streaming down his face and he was unable to go on talking. But he tried. It took him a minute to catch his breath, but he was determined to see this through. "I'm sorry," he managed, "it's just that… Daniel didn't deserve that. He was a good man. Even after… He was a good man. He would have deserved a better life."

"I know, buddy," Don said as softly as he could, afraid he might do more harm than good with his voice.

His brother took a deep breath, but his voice was still a little shaky. "I'm sorry," he repeated as he wiped away the tears and actually managed a smile. "I didn't mean to get all emotional on you." Don's arm returned to its spot around Charlie's shoulders and he forced himself to smile back, wanting to cry. "It's just… It was a really long day for me, I guess, and I… I'm really tired and drained and… Could we… maybe…" He swallowed and gave Don an imploring look. "Can we just go home?"

Don nodded, that look giving him a hard time to find his voice again. "Of course, buddy," he was finally able to say. He gave his brother's shoulders a tight squeeze. "I'm gonna take you home."

\- finis -


	5. Emergency

**Disclaimer:** In case I haven't mentioned it before, I'd just like to say that Numb3rs and its characters don't belong to me. Also, this is a work of fiction, so any names (like 'CalMeds, Inc.'), characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  
 **Rating:** T  
 **Timeline:** towards the end of season 3  
 **Reference:** to 3-21 The Art of Reckoning  
 **A/N:** Thank you so much for your support so far! I'm always both excited and apprehensive when posting one of these, so every time someone shows his or her appreciation, I'm overjoyed. Thank you!

* * *

 **Emergency**

"There has to be a way to narrow this down," Charlie said with a deep sigh as he ran his hands through his hair, which made him look a little older than usual. But maybe that was just because he'd managed to give himself gray hair by that gesture since his hands were full of chalk dust, his left one even more than his right one, which was not a good sign because that usually meant that he'd angrily wiped away what he'd just written. At least that was what it meant today.

"I must tell you, Charles," Larry said, "that you seem a little stressed to me."

Charlie inhaled deeply, swallowing down a harsh reply. "While your assessment is quite accurate, _Lawrence_ , it's not the most helpful observation you could come up with right now." Damn. Apparently there had been another harsh reply on the tip of his tongue, one that he hadn't been able to swallow down. He sighed again. "Sorry, it's just…" He didn't really know what he was going to say, and when he found what it was, a slightly crooked and definitely apologetic smile appeared on his lips. "I'm just a little stressed."

"Well, it _is_ a little ambitious to offer your help on a case for Don on top of midterms _and_ that paper you're co-authoring," Amita remarked. She, too, seemed a little stressed and didn't show the calmness that Larry emanated. Might be because she too was busy with midterms. Or rather, she _should_ be busy with midterms, but had joined Charlie in his office to help him with the pursuit curves a couple of hours ago. Larry had only now joined them, sort of as a stimulating vacation from the monastery he was staying at since his return from space. No wonder he was an incarnation of tranquility.

"As I recall our most recent conversation, I thought your work for Don was done, wasn't it?" Larry now asked and seemed completely unperturbed by Charlie's earlier harshness.

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too," Charlie murmured, still trying to find a way to get a little more information out of the data he had. "And it would have been if the robbers hadn't decided to run for it. You see, we managed to come up with a pattern and were able to predict possible locations for their next heist, but the plan to apprehend them went wrong and now they're on the run and I just can't find anything to narrow down what routes they may have taken!"

"So you assume they're going north," Larry observed, ignoring Charlie's renewed agitation as he peeked over Amita's shoulder to see the map she had opened on her laptop. "And you're trying to rank the desirability of all the routes that lead north in order to get a more accurate result, so far without success."

Charlie impatiently started to sigh, but it ended in a little gasp when a stab of pain ran through his chest. He'd intended to make another remark about the helpfulness of Larry's observations, but the sudden pain threw him off so that Larry went on before he could reply. "Now in the light of the lack of results, wouldn't it be conceivable that this assumption is wrong and that it might be wiser to widen your data set again and also include routes other than merely those leading north?"

Charlie opened his mouth to reply, but was stopped short as he was hit by another stab of pain. Okay, this was getting a bit scary. He'd been feeling a little pressure on his chest for a couple of hours now, but he'd just thought his office was a bit stuffy and that made it a bit more laborious for him to breathe. Those stabs of pain, however, didn't really fit into that theory.

He took another breath, more carefully this time, and said, "No, it wouldn't." He swallowed; the pain wasn't coming in stabs anymore, but had become constant and just didn't stop. "We didn't _assume_ that they went north, that's the result of our preliminary analysis, and everything we've tried so far to narrow it down doesn't contradict this result but instead rather confirms it. It's just that none of the northern routes stands out, none has a significantly higher probability than the rest."

He swallowed again, bent forward slightly and pressed his fist against his sternum in an attempt to release part of the pain. By now, it had spread almost to his throat and was tightening his chest so much that he was almost afraid to breathe, afraid of how much it would hurt.

"Charlie, are you okay?" he heard Amita ask.

He nodded. "It's just… I don't know." He was about to add something, to propose a theory what might be going on with him, but found that he couldn't. He had no idea what was going on. He wasn't sick, or at least he hadn't been this morning, he wasn't hurt, had no bruises or anything else on his torso or anywhere on his body for that matter, and he hadn't even been running or exerted himself otherwise, at least not physically. The fact was, there was no explanation for what he was experiencing, and when Charlie realized that, he had to swallow again. He was scared.

"Maybe we should just broaden the area in which we consider the possible routes," he said in an almost desperate attempt to ignore what was going on and to just continue working as if nothing was happening. After all, if there was no explanation for what was happening, then it was an anomaly, and anomalies were commonly unstable, so if he just continued as if nothing was wrong, then everything would soon go back to normal and the pain would go away on its own, right?

Right?

He was looking back at the chalkboard now as a wave of dizziness hit him. Damn. What on earth was this? He put his left hand against the board, trying to make the room stop spinning, but the numbers were still dancing in front of his eyes.

"Charlie?"

"I'm okay," he said. He could hear his voice tremble, but that was about everything that was clear to him, for everything else seemed suddenly muffled and blurry. He closed his eyes, but that didn't make things a whole lot better. "Just a little dizzy, it'll pass."

"Are you sure?"

He heard something crack and it took him several seconds to realize that he had just crushed the chalk he was holding in his right hand. He didn't relinquish his hold though, cramping up his hand seemed to be the only way to keep the pain to a bearable level.

Or to an almost bearable level.

When another jolt of pain shot through him, he couldn't suppress a soft cry. He was leaning against the chalkboard more heavily now and was also putting his forehead against it in an attempt to stop the dizziness. It didn't work.

"Actually," he moaned through gritted teeth, "I don't feel so good."

"I'll get you some water," he heard Amita say, alarm in her voice, but it sounded strangely far away.

He could hear as she stood from her chair and it was the last thing he was conscious of before blackness encompassed him.

* * *

"Charlie!"

Amita had just been passing the desk she'd been working on when Charlie collapsed and was kneeling next to him in an instant. Her hand was covering his cheek, which seemed strangely cool. She thought she could hear her heart race in her chest. She knew she needed to do something, she just didn't know what.

"I can't feel a pulse." She jumped as she heard Larry's voice so close beside her. "I think we should give him CPR."

"Just do it!" Amita shrieked and immediately forced herself to stop this. She had to stay calm. She had to react properly now, or Charlie would pay for her inadequacy.

"I'm calling an ambulance," she said and was already dialing 911 while watching Larry giving Charlie chest compressions. She shuddered. This wasn't right.

She couldn't have said later what she was telling the woman on the phone, she was just glad that the operator knew to say and ask the right things to lead the conversation. Amita's answers were automatic, her whole attention was focused on Charlie's face, on the feeling of his wrist beneath her fingertips and on Larry's attempts to bring him back to life.

 _Crack_.

Both she and Larry flinched and he paused in his efforts. Amita swallowed, that sound had made nausea rise inside her.

"Was that a rib?" Larry asked, his voice thin, his face pale.

"Just go on," Amita said, interrupting her phone conversation without even noticing it. Charlie's face was still pale, still unmoving and even if Larry was breaking all his ribs, he couldn't stop, for if he stopped…

Amita couldn't finish the thought, and she didn't have to because Larry resumed his task. Now she just had to wait, because sooner or later Charlie had to open his eyes again, he couldn't stay like this forever, so still, so… lifeless.

She didn't know how much time had passed. It seemed like hours, but in hindsight she realized that it couldn't even have been a full minute, for Larry was only at his second turn of chest compressions when it happened.

"There!" she cried. "I've got a pulse! He's got his pulse back!"

Larry nodded, but judging from the look on his face, he still seemed a little out of it. As it turned out though, he was keeping his wits together, and she was glad that at least one of them was. "You should try and find an AED, just to be sure," he said and Amita could hear the tremble in his voice.

She nodded and ran while giving the woman on the phone an update on Charlie's condition. She was back in his office few moments later, the defibrillator in her hand. Luckily she'd remembered where they stored one.

"Has he woken up yet?"

Larry shook his head and she didn't like the look on his face. "I think his pulse is getting weaker again. We should get the AED in place, it'll be more accurate than we are. And he may need the electric shocks."

He'd already opened Charlie's shirt and Amita, with trembling hands, stuck the AED pads to the right places. She'd never used a defibrillator before and had thought she'd be utterly overwhelmed, but found that even in her frantic state, the machine's orders were clear enough that she had no trouble following them.

"I'll have to go out front and wait for the ambulance so they find us," she said when everything was in place and the AED showed that it was monitoring Charlie's heart movements closely. She stood on trembling feet and looked down for a moment on a still unmoving Charlie. The tears came and she wiped them away. "You take good care of him, okay?" she sobbed.

Larry nodded. "You should get going. The paramedics should get here as quickly as possible."

Amita nodded, gave Charlie one last glance and then hurried towards the main entrance.

She was back in Charlie's office with the paramedics few minutes later.

"Thank G-d," Larry sighed when they entered. "His pulse stopped again just a few minutes ago, but after a charge with the AED it came back quickly."

The paramedics nodded and shoved them aside. Larry and Amita watched the procedure, answering their questions dully, still trying to comprehend what had just happened. It didn't take long and then they put him on a stretcher and hurried back to the ambulance. Amita was just about to follow them in when one of the paramedics stopped her, "Sorry, there's no room here. We'll take him to UCLA, you can meet us there."

Amita nodded and stepped back, blindly, while she watched them close the door behind Charlie and drive off with wailing sirens. She swallowed, fighting hard to keep the tears at bay. She managed and it was as if that success gave her new strength. "We need to get going," she said to Larry and was already hurrying towards the parking lot. "I'll drive."

* * *

Don hadn't put the receiver down yet when Colby updated him, "I got two more sightings of the jeep in Barstow, that route's looking promising."

David destroyed their hope at once. "Only if the vehicle we've been following is the right one. I just checked the security feed of the gas station where we spotted them and I got to tell you guys, it doesn't look like it's them."

"Shit," Don cursed softly. If David was right, they'd wasted several hours looking for the wrong jeep. It was possible though, there was a time frame the whereabouts of the jeep in question were still unaccounted for, so a mix-up could have occurred, even with all the satellite images and other data like tips and alerts that were coming in. When they'd found their jeep again around noon after having lost it almost an hour before that, they couldn't believe their luck. Now it seemed as though that incredibility had been well-founded. Too bad they didn't know the license plate of their robbers' getaway car, that way none of this could have happened. But hell, they didn't even know if their perps hadn't changed vehicles by now.

"Colby, you stay on that jeep in Barstow, just to be sure. David, you go back to where we lost the jeep the first time, see if we made a mistake there. Liz, you and I try to find other vehicles that fit the description and were around when we lost their vehicle."

They set to work and Don was yet again amazed at how well his team worked together and how efficient they were, even with Liz as their new temporary member working with them as a substitute for Megan who was away on that assignment of hers. It didn't even seem to disrupt the team's dynamics that he and Liz were sleeping together.

Don only allowed himself a brief thought about that, because time was of the essence now. The more time passed, the slimmer their chances of getting the robbers before they were out of reach and had gone into hiding.

His cell rang and when he saw that it was Amita, his hopes went up. If Amita was calling him, that meant that Charlie couldn't because he was driving, which meant that they were on their way here to explain their findings because they'd found something of significance.

"Hey Amita, you found something?"

"Don. It's me."

Larry. Don briefly closed his eyes. He liked Larry, he did, but he also knew that the cosmologist didn't have a habit of expressing himself clearly and briefly, and that was all that he needed right now. "Okay, Larry, make it quick, did you figure out where they're heading?"

"Yes, but –"

Don wouldn't let him deviate. "Where?"

"North, but –"

"Okay, north," he said a bit louder so that Liz could hear him. She understood and set to work. "Is that all you can say or do you have anything more specific, any specific routes they may have taken, any specific town they may be headed to?"

"No, but Don – this is not why I called you."

Don frowned. Why else would _Larry_ be calling him? He was so perplex that for a moment, he didn't know what to say, so Larry went on, "It's about Charles."

Don felt as if someone had just submerged him into ice water. He thought he didn't feel anything, he was numb, he couldn't move and he was more than a little confused. "What?"

The next moment, he silently chastised himself. Larry was calling him about Charlie – so what? That didn't mean that something had happened, right?

"They're taking him to the hospital. Amita and I are following them, but they said they might need a family member present."

Don clutched his cell more tightly. He didn't understand, worse, he knew he didn't _want_ to understand. "What?" His voice was hardly a whisper now, the volume betraying his mind's reluctance to face what was going on.

"He suddenly collapsed while working on the case. They're assuming there's something wrong with his heart, and since Charles himself is currently in no condition to be making decisions for himself, they may need family consent."

The questions were now tumbling over in Don's mind and it seemed to him as though everything had stopped making sense. Charlie's heart? In no condition to make decisions? "What?"

There was a hesitation at the other end that did nothing to calm him down. "I'm not sure what you're… Did you understand what I was saying, Don?"

"I'm coming," he heard himself say. All of a sudden, he felt strangely disconnected from his body. His mind was still overwhelmed with the situation and couldn't figure out what was going on, but his body had started acting on its own account, it had started reacting in the way that was appropriate and that people expected from him. "Does our dad know?"

"I was about to call him next."

Don nodded and was at a loss to figure out which would be the next step. "I'm coming," he repeated. Then he heard himself ask, "Where?"

"UCLA Medical Center."

"I'm coming," he said for a third time and disconnected the call.

He stared at his cell as though it had just done something utterly grotesque, like gutting a dozen teddy bears for no reason, or like skinning a pig, in any event something utterly cruel that didn't make any sense.

"Don?"

He could hear Liz's voice, but he felt unable to turn around and face her.

"Don, is there something wrong?"

It was still his body that did the talking and not him. "Charlie's in the hospital."

"What? What happened?"

Don swallowed. What had happened? He didn't know. "I don't know." Larry's words reverberated in his ear, an endless mantra consisting of chains of sounds that still didn't make any sense. "Something's wrong with his heart. They may need family consent."

"What?" That was Colby. Apparently someone else who didn't understand what was going on. "Don, you need to go there, _now_."

Don nodded. That was all the movement he was capable of, though.

"Don, we can handle the search," David chimed in. "Or maybe someone should drive you?"

Don shook his head and it seemed as though that was the sign his body needed to set him in motion. "I'm going there. David, you're in charge. Keep me posted," his body said.

He left without another glance at them.

* * *

Don was waiting to wake up from this nightmare any moment. His sense of hearing seemed much more acute than usual, which amplified the feeling of surreality as he entered the hospital's lobby and made his way to the front desk.

"I'm looking for my brother, Charles Eppes, E-p-p-e-s," he heard himself say. "I was told he was just admitted here."

The woman before him typed something in her computer and then read the information out to him in a voice that revealed that this wasn't her first day. She was gentle, true, but it was just as apparent that he was just another visitor to her, and Charlie was just another patient with just another condition. "He's still being treated in the CCU, you may wait there for his attending physician to give you an update," she said and then gave him directions.

Don hardly heard them and automatically thanked her while his mind seemed to be working at full speed although it couldn't come up with any answers. So if Charlie was in the coronary care unit, then Larry had been right, something was indeed wrong with Charlie's heart. But how could something be wrong with Charlie's heart? He was 32, for G-d's sake, he was physically fit and he hadn't even done anything strenuous or stressful when it had happened, right? Because doing math wasn't stressful for him, he loved it. Even when he was working on FBI cases. And even though he had told Don he had a lot on his plate right now, that he was stressed out…

Larry and Amita stood when he approached them. They were the only ones in the waiting area of the CCU, not even his father was there yet.

"Where's my dad?" he said without losing time with a greeting.

"He's on his way here," Larry replied quietly. "Apparently he was on a business meeting out of town, so it may take him a while."

Don nodded, averting his gaze by looking at the door to the treatment rooms. The shocked look in both Larry's and Amita's eyes did nothing to alleviate his anxiety.

"What happened?" He was still not looking at them.

He heard Larry sigh. "I'm afraid we lack the necessary data to provide you with an accurate answer."

"Everything was normal," Amita took over, and despite the slightly teary quality of her voice, Don was glad to get a more straight-forward report. "We were working on the escape routes when Charlie suddenly started to feel dizzy, and I think his chest was hurting. Then he collapsed. We couldn't find a pulse, but Larry reanimated him while I called for an ambulance and eventually they took over."

Don was shaking his head. "So his heart just stopped beating or what? How can that be?"

"It was beating," Larry contradicted. "I could feel it. But there wasn't a pulse."

"But how?" Don repeated. "How can it be that from one moment to the next, his heart stops working properly?"

The two scientists didn't have an answer to that and bent their heads.

Don ran his hands over his face. He still didn't understand, and if he didn't understand, he couldn't determine how bad things were. However, since Charlie was in the hospital, in the CCU no less, he was pretty sure that they were bad enough.

They settled to silence, everyone being too tense to talk. Don watched the clock at the wall, wondering what was wrong with it. It seemed to be going so much slower than every other clock he'd ever seen. It felt like they'd been waiting here for hours, and it didn't help things that Amita burst into tears every ten minutes or so and that Don himself had to try hard to remain still because he knew he would make everyone crazy, including himself, by constantly walking up and down the corridor like a lion in a cage. It didn't help things either that his attempts to convince himself that Charlie was in good hands now, that they were going to fix whatever was wrong with him, became more and more desperate and less and less credible.

The clock at the wall said that not even an hour had passed since his arrival when the door to the CCU opened and a doctor stepped out, headed directly towards them. She was fairly tall, had her hair in a dark ponytail and seemed to be around 40. Her gaze was keen and Don was glad to notice that she emanated competence.

"I'm Doctor Anderson, I assume you're all here for Charlie Eppes?"

Don stood on wobbly knees and extended his hand. "I'm his brother, these are his friends. They can hear everything you have to say."

The doctor smiled and nodded. "That's what your brother just told me," she said.

"You talked to him? Is he alright?"

There was still something like a smile on the doctor's face, but her features had become more earnest. "Let's sit," she said and led them by example. "First of all, Charlie is stable now, and when we're done here you may visit him briefly." She glanced at Amita and Larry and added, "Only family members though. And I'll have to warn you up front, he's still rather weak and he'll be with us for a couple of days, also because we're still trying to figure out what caused his symptoms."

Don couldn't hold back any longer. "So what _are_ those symptoms? What's wrong with him? Something with his heart?"

Doctor Anderson nodded again. "Yes, that we can positively say. From the paramedics' report, we gather that Charlie apparently suffered several bouts of polymorphic ventricular tachycardia." She could see the questions in their eyes and explained, "That means that his heart was beating too rapidly and irregularly to effectively pump blood through his body, which led to the angina pectoris and the loss of consciousness. Since he received help immediately, we're hopeful that the bouts themselves didn't cause any permanent damage. The first two attacks seemed to have been stopped by the CPR given on site, which, however, caused two of Charlie's ribs to break. He had two further attacks during the ambulance ride, but they too could be stopped quickly and he has been stable since he arrived here. However, until now, we haven't been able to determine the cause for the tachycardia. So let me ask you, Mr. Eppes, have there been other cases of heart condition in your family?"

Don thought hard, which wasn't easy under the circumstances. "Not that I know of," he then said, finding his voice unnaturally loud in his ears as if it was trying to drown the rapid, yet forceful beating of his own heart. "I think an uncle of ours had a heart attack once, but other than that… I don't think so. But how could Charlie have had a heart attack?"

"He hadn't," the doctor explained patiently. "As far as we've been able to determine, the heart muscle is still intact, it was only beating arrhythmically, which also is a serious condition that we have to treat. To do that, however, we first need to figure out what caused the arrhythmia. Can you tell me if Charlie has been taking any sorts of medication or drugs?"

"What?" Don was aghast. "You think he's doing drugs?"

To give her credit, the doctor remained calm. "It's in Charlie's best interest that we work out a full patient's history, and it's in his best interest that you answer my questions fully and correctly. I'm not trying to suggest he's taking drugs, I just need to make sure we know everything that may be relevant."

"He's not taking any drugs," Amita's quiet voice floated through the air. She seemed a bit calmer than during the period of waiting, but her voice still held a trembling quality. "Well, apart from caffeine, if you count that. And no medication. A sleeping pill or something against head-aches every now and then, but not often."

The doctor nodded. "That's what Charlie told me. He also told me it has been several weeks at least since he took a pain killer or a sleeping pill, and that he had only one cup of coffee today. Can you confirm that?"

Larry and Amita nodded, and Don was filled with sudden gratitude that they were here. He wouldn't have been able to answer the doctor's questions that accurately.

"And he was in no contact with electricity immediately before the event, is that right?"

Larry and Amita shook their heads.

The doctor nodded again. "Alright, if those possibilities really prove not to be the cause of Charlie's condition, it seems that the most plausible scenario would be cardiac ischemia, which means that his heart isn't supplied with enough blood, which in turn would mean that it can't perform its task of pumping blood properly. However, we're running some tests to make sure that we haven't overlooked anything."

Don nodded, filled with a strange sense of impatience. He couldn't wait to see Charlie, but at the same time, he was dreading the encounter and would have liked to have more time to get used to the idea of seeing his little brother in a hospital bed of the CCU. "Can I see him now?"

"You can, but as I said, only briefly. Your brother is still weakened by the event and the ensuing procedures and I'll have to ask you not to upset him in any way. Especially as long as we don't know what triggered the event, our primary goal is to decrease the risk of further complications. That also means that we're monitoring Charlie closely, so you should be prepared to see a lot of equipment around your brother. Just keep in mind that this equipment is there to keep him stable, so it's nothing to be apprehensive about."

Don nodded, trying to prepare himself for the sight that was going to greet him and knowing fully well that he would still be having a hard time to see Charlie like this.

* * *

He'd been right. He had to swallow hard when he entered the intensive care room. Dr. Anderson had been right as well, there was a lot of machinery attached to his little brother and Don was having a hard time not to be intimidated by the sight. On the other hand, he was immediately relieved when he stepped into the room, because Charlie seemed to be sitting up, which had to mean he was relatively okay, right?

"Hey, buddy," Don said softly, still not feeling at ease at all in this room.

There was no answer. When he stepped closer, he could see why: Charlie's eyes were closed. He appeared to be sleeping. Only the backrest of the hospital bed was keeping him in a more or less sitting position.

"Charlie?" Don whispered, not sure whether he should wake his brother to let him know he was there or just let him sleep.

Charlie saved him from having to make a decision by waking up on his own. He squinted his eyes a bit, although the room was only dimly lit. "Don?" he then whispered, sounding rather sleepy.

"I'm here, buddy," Don said and laid a hand on his brother's. He decided to keep his voice low. It seemed more appropriate in these surroundings and it would at least hide its broken quality. "I gotta tell you, you gave us quite a fright there."

"Sorry," was the mumbled reply.

Don swallowed, feeling the urge to kick his own ass. "I didn't mean it like that. Just concentrate on getting better, okay?"

"'Kay."

Don bit his lip as he looked down at his little brother, studying the exhaustion he saw on his face. He was just wondering whether he should leave again, give his brother some rest, when he heard him ask, "'Mita an' Larry?"

"They're right outside. They filled us in on what happened and now the doctors are figuring out how to help you best. Only family is allowed in here, you know, but Dad will soon be here, too, he's already on his way."

Charlie closed his eyes, but stayed awake and actually seemed a little more alert now, his words were coming out a little clearer, although his exhaustion was still palpable. "He's been so excited 'bout that project." He paused, then opened his eyes. "And you?" he then asked. "Caught the robbers?"

Don shook his head. "Not yet. But the team's working on it. Don't worry about that."

As if to contradict him, Charlie frowned. "So what're you doing here? Don't you need –"

"Stop it," Don said with a firm squeeze of Charlie's hand, trying to deliver the words as gently as he could, which wasn't easy when his little brother was acting like the biggest idiot on the face of the earth. "I'm exactly where I need to be, alright? And Dad, too, that is, he will be. They're gonna find out what's wrong with you and we won't just abandon you until we know that." He paused, but decided there was no harm in lightening the mood. "I mean, they're gonna find out what's wrong with your heart. If they tried to include all the other stuff, the list would be just too long."

"Jerk," Charlie said, having his eyes closed again, but Don was sure he could see a smile on his lips.

* * *

When Don made his way back to the waiting area few minutes later, he almost collided with his wide-eyed father who had apparently just arrived.

"Donnie!"

"It's okay," Don said, directing his words also at Larry and Amita who'd risen from their seats as well. He tried hard to keep his voice firm and not to think too much about the pitiful figure he'd just left. "He seems to be doing fine. He's exhausted and he just fell asleep again, but otherwise he seems okay."

"I'm going in there," Alan said and tried pushing his way past Don.

"Dad." Don held him back, but didn't quite know what to say. He just knew he couldn't let his father walk into that torture chamber unprepared. "It looks pretty bad," he finally admitted, "but I just talked to him and he's okay, really." Well, at least if you considered that 'okay' was a relative term. Maybe in relation to his condition yesterday, 'okay' was a slightly misleading description, but Charlie was definitely 'okay' in relation to the fact that he'd almost died today.

He swallowed. "Look, I've got to check in with the team, I'll be right back," he said and escaped from them all.

Once outside the building, he took a deep breath and let himself sink on the stairs. He was at a side entrance, so there wasn't much foot traffic going on, and Don was glad about it. He really needed some quiet to calm himself down a bit.

When he was feeling a little better, he called David.

"Don," he was greeted and could hear the question that was delivered with the word. He didn't know what to reply though, so he remained silent. "How is he?"

Don swallowed. He still didn't know what to reply, he just kept seeing Charlie's exhausted form in front of his inner eye. "He's stable now," he eventually repeated the doctor's words. "There's something wrong with his heart, but they still don't know what it is."

"I'm sorry," David said. He had to realize how much this fact of not knowing was wearing Don down.

They were silent for a moment. "What about the robbers?" Don eventually asked.

"We've got a lead. We concentrated on the routes leading north and got lucky, Liz immediately found a jeep fitting the description that vanished in an industrialized area in Bakersfield. It looks like it's them and Colby and Liz are heading there now to lead the assault team."

"Good," Don said, not sure how he felt about the fact that they wouldn't be at this point without Charlie's help. "Look, I gotta get back in there. Keep me posted." He disconnected the call and stared ahead, into nothing. He knew he had to get back. He wanted to get back. But he also couldn't stand the idea of getting back and waiting for Charlie's test results.

* * *

Doctor Anderson approached the small group with a little less of her usual self-confidence and a lot less of her usual gentleness. She was a bit out of her element with this case. It happened every now and then that patients and their families weren't completely honest when she took a patient's history, but usually they opened up when they realized the importance of their truthfulness. She was sure she had stressed this importance enough in this case and truth be told, she had been convinced that they'd been honest with her. Now, however, the facts pointed another way.

"I have to talk to you," she said and didn't have to act to put on a grim face. She was pissed as hell, mainly at her patient, but since he still wasn't back to health yet, she'd decided to confront his family first. Gladly, he'd given consent for her to discuss the details of his condition with them.

"You got the test results?" his brother asked. He'd risen from his chair and both hope and fear could be seen on his face in equal amounts.

"Not all of them," she answered, "but his blood test came back, and we found substances in it that shouldn't be there. One of them is an antiarrhythmic agent called Quinidine, the others can all be categorized as analgesics." She suppressed the urge to growl. "Care to explain?"

When she saw the stunned looks on their faces, she was almost certain that they didn't know anything about those substances, but then again, she'd already been fooled once today.

When her words had sunken in, the father started shaking his head. "Now wait, an antiarrhythmic agent and pain killers – isn't that what you've been giving him?"

Dr. Anderson shook her head decidedly. "There is pain medication in his system that he didn't get from us, neither in this hospital nor by the paramedics, and he certainly didn't get the antiarrhythmic agent from us. He must have taken those substances himself."

It was like she'd been talking to a wall. "No, wait, so your hospital messed up his medication and now you're accusing my son of substance abuse?"

"Mr. Eppes, please, I understand your agitation, but I can assure you that none of our staff could have accidentally administered the Quinidine."

"Why, because mistakes don't happen here?"

Dr. Anderson forced herself to remain calm. "No, but because we don't use it here. Quinidine has a number of side-effects which make other antiarrhythmic agents more desirable choices. I can't imagine who would still use it, but I can assure you that we don't, not in this hospital and not on the ambulance cars."

"And then how did it get into his system? Why would Charlie even have taken that Quin-thing?"

As much as Dr. Anderson emphasized with her patient's father, she would have preferred him to dial his protests down a notch so that they could start figuring out the answer to the very question he'd just asked.

"Dad," the younger Eppes said and when she turned around to face him, she was a bit scared at the expression on his face: shock, mingled with understanding, and above it all, a layer of fear.

"I don't think the hospital is to blame," he continued with graveness in his voice. He turned towards her. "My brother consults a lot for law enforcement agencies. Is it possible…" He hesitated. "Is it possible that someone administered those substances to him intentionally, to harm him?"

For a moment, Dr. Anderson didn't know what to say. That somehow made much more sense than her patient having taken the Quinidine on his own account. She nodded slowly. "Actually, yes. As I said, Quinidine is known to have severe side-effects, so you can imagine the damage the drug could do when administered to people who don't even show signs of arrhythmia to begin with. In any event, Charlie has been extremely lucky that the medication he was given by the paramedics and later here at the hospital didn't interfere more severely with the Quinidine, or the outcome would have been a lot worse. If someone speculated that Charlie would be alone when the Quinidine was administered, or that the interference with the antiarrhythmic agents the paramedics would give him would have more severe effects, as could be expected that they do…" She trailed off. If the Quinidine had indeed been administered by someone else without her patient's knowledge, then this was an attempt on his life!

"We need to call the police," she said and had difficulty to win her usual calm back. This was something that hadn't happened to her before.

To her surprise, the brother shook his head. "No. I'm with the FBI. We're going to handle this."

Dr. Anderson gaped and started slowly shaking her head. One with the FBI, the other a consultant for law enforcement agencies – what kind of family was that?

"What about the pain medication? How did that get into his system?" the FBI brother asked.

She tried to win her focus back. "We don't know that yet. Maybe Charlie took them on his own account for some reason. It could also be that it was administered along with the Quinidine to mask its effects. If the Quinidine was administered slowly, Charlie would probably have noticed the arrhythmia by chest pain before the effects became so severe, but if pain medication was administered along with the Quinidine, the dosage in his body may have increased up to an alarming point without him taking much notice of what was going on."

"And if the pain killers were given to him later? What consequences could that have had?"

 _A wall_ , Dr. Anderson thought, _I'm talking to a wall_. "As I said earlier, he didn't get the pain medication from us –"

"And if he did?"

She looked at him for a moment and realized that he wouldn't let the question go. "Well, any form of medication the administration of which isn't properly documented is potentially harmful in Charlie's current state. We need to know exactly what drugs there are in his system, or otherwise there could be severe side-effects."

The brother nodded as if he'd suspected something of the kind. "We'll have to get Charlie out of here then."

She stared at him. "You can't be serious," she said when she realized that he was. To her great relief, the other three people in the room seemed just as shocked by this request, so maybe this family wasn't completely crazy after all.

"He needs to be in an environment that we can control. We can do that at his house, but we can't do it here. You said he's stable now, right? And if his condition was caused by that drug, there won't be another attack if he's not exposed to it again, right?"

Dr. Anderson shook her head. "There are probably still traces of the Quinidine in his system –"

"But you just said that this Quin…idine needs a certain dosage to take such a severe effect and that he'll notice if it builds up."

"Only if it isn't masked by pain medication –"

"Which your staff keeps administering to him!"

Okay, she was getting enough of this. "What do you want us to do, stop his medication?"

"I didn't say that. I'm just saying that when your people tell us they're giving him pain medication, they could just as easily give him more of the Quinidine."

She gaped. Was that guy serious?

"The fact is," he continued, "that he has substances in his body which shouldn't be there and that someone managed to give them to him, so we need to make sure that whoever it was can't come back and try again."

She shook her head again. That seemed to be more and more often the appropriate response when dealing with this family. "Charlie's in no condition to travel. If despite what we think to know another attack happened outside the hospital… I just can't take responsibility for that."

His jaw was set when he replied, "And if something happens to him here? Can you take responsibility for _that_?"

She swallowed and averted her gaze. Her eyes landed on her patient's other three loved ones who didn't look any happier than she felt about this, but she thought she could also see a silent request in their eyes. They were actually serious about this.

She bit her lip. She didn't know what to do. She couldn't imagine that someone working here would do something like that, but she also wouldn't say that she implicitly trusted each and every one of them. Besides, she knew that it was scarily easy even for an outsider to get into a patient's room unnoticed, there were just too many people working here to know everyone and there was just too much to do to always stay on top of everything that should and shouldn't be going on.

She sighed heavily. She'd made a decision. A crazy one, but apparently this family was rubbing off. "Alright. Let's make a deal. My shift is going to end in two hours and I'm going to examine Charlie once more then. If his state hasn't deteriorated and if the test results that are still pending don't show any additional problem, you may take him home – but I'm coming with you to make sure he gets settled in properly."

He looked at her hard for a few seconds and she gave the stare back. Then he nodded and she understood it as an implicit assertion that he trusted her. "And what about the next two hours?" he asked. "Someone could come in –"

"I'll make sure to let the nurses know not to go near him," she interrupted him. It felt good to interrupt him. Powerful. She didn't cherish the feeling for long though. "You may stay with him until we leave." She looked at the two Eppes men sternly. "One of you. And you'll have to make sure he gets his rest. Don't keep him awake, he'll need all his strength for the transport."

They nodded and the brother asked with something like a smile around his lips, "Any further conditions?"

"One," Dr. Anderson said, trying not to be affected by that smile. "Charlie needs to give his consent for this. If he goes home, we can't give him the same pain medication we can give him here, because we can't monitor him that closely; we can only give him something mild. Besides, there is still a certain risk that something happens during the transport or once he's home, and he has to understand that and to be willing to take that risk if we are going to do this."

The brother nodded. He seemed completely unperturbed by her last condition. "Alright then. Let's ask him."

* * *

"So you think someone did this on purpose?" He could hear that his voice was still slightly slurred, but also noticed that it took him less effort to keep his eyes open. But maybe that was just a reaction to having learned that someone had tried to kill him.

"That's what it looks like, buddy," Don said. He and his doctor had just woken him up with earnest expressions on their faces that had immediately told him that something was wrong. He'd been so right. "And that's why we have to get you out of here and someplace safe."

Charlie swallowed and looked up into his brother's eyes. They were filled with worry, with sadness, but Charlie could also see determination in them. Okay then. Don knew what he was doing. "Where?" he asked.

"Home. We just need to make sure nobody can give you any drugs."

He nodded. "Okay."

Dr. Anderson's eye-brows had gone up. "Charlie – I'm not sure you understand what you're consenting to. You shouldn't be moving around too much and even though your heart rate has been stable for some time now, it may be premature to stop the monitoring just yet."

"I understand that," he said, "and it's not like I'm looking forward to do this. But if Don says it's the best way to proceed, then I trust his judgment."

Dr. Anderson shook her head. Again. Sooner or later, this family would make her go nuts.

* * *

Don left Charlie's room with Dr. Anderson, but stopped directly in front of the door, not taking any chances that someone might sneak into Charlie's room in his absence. He pulled out his cell and learned from David that Colby, Liz and the agents they'd taken with them had managed to apprehend the robbers and were on their way back.

"What about you? Any news about Charlie?"

The question had come only after hesitation and Don hesitated as well before answering. He didn't know how to say this, but he also knew that he needed to inform his team if he intended to go through with his plan.

"Yeah, there is." He looked around to make sure nobody was listening and went on, "Actually, I'm gonna need your help."

"Anything," came David's reply – without hesitation this time.

Don couldn't help but smile at his loyalty. The smile quickly vanished however when he started to explain. "It looks as though someone drugged Charlie to intentionally cause those heart problems."

There was silence at the other end. "Are you sure?" David then said, his voice suddenly low and a bit hoarse.

"Well, that's what it looks like. But keep that to yourself for now. We're gonna take Charlie home later tonight and until then, I don't want anyone to know that we're suspecting foul play."

"You're worried that whoever did this might try again?"

Don's jaw was set. "I sure as hell won't take any chances."

There was some more silence at the other end, then David asked, "So what do you want me to do?"

"I need you to go through the most recent cases Charlie's been working on for us, see if you can find someone who has a motive, who knows about Charlie's involvement and most importantly who could have pulled this thing off. I don't think there'll be a whole lot of suspects who fit that description. But David – I haven't made this official yet. I will, as soon as Charlie's home safely, but until then, everything you do is technically overtime –"

"Don," David sighed, "just… This is Charlie we're talking about, okay? I think we can accept more than a little overtime if that helps to find the son of a bitch that did this to him."

Don nodded, trying not to react too emotionally to that. "Thanks," he just said. After some seconds to collect himself, he went on, "Actually, there _is_ more. I need you to come down here at 8 tonight to help me move Charlie. Until now, the guy tried to poison him, but we don't know if he's got anything else up his sleeve, so I'd just like to have an extra pair of eyes around."

"I'll be there," was all that David said.

* * *

They'd sent a slightly reluctant group of three – Larry, Amita and his dad – as an advance guard to Charlie's house to prepare for his arrival. Don and Dr. Anderson had put Charlie into a wheelchair a little before 8 so that Dr. Anderson, while he and David brought Charlie to the car, could properly end her shift and meet them in the parking lot. It felt a little cloak and dagger, but maybe fighting their perpetrator with his own weapons was exactly what they needed to do now.

However, as soon as Charlie was sitting in the wheelchair, Don wondered if this had been such a great idea after all. Charlie looked bad, he was beyond pale and seemed to have trouble keeping his eyes open. To make matters worse, Dr. Anderson had given him a less strong pain killer at his last turn, the kind he would get from now on, because she'd needed to make sure he didn't show any rejecting reaction. However, whatever she'd given him didn't seem to be helping much and Charlie was cramping his hands around the armrests of his wheelchair, obviously in pain. Then one of his hands shot to a place over his left chest and Don felt a stab of fear.

"What's wrong, your heart?" he asked alarmed.

Charlie shook his head and Dr. Anderson and her stethoscope backed off again. "Just my ribs."

Don breathed a sigh of relief, but felt that all the relief was gone when he looked back down at his little brother. "Look… I'm sorry we have to do this, buddy," he said, biting his lip as though he was the one feeling Charlie's pain. It somehow felt like he was. "But whoever –"

"I know," Charlie interrupted him. He was looking up now and something like a smile, a bit contorted by the pain, appeared on his face. "It's okay. Let's just do this."

As if he'd heard them, David stepped into the room.

"I'll be gone then," Dr. Anderson said. "I'll meet you out front."

She rushed out past David, which gave the newcomer an opportunity to give his face a more neutral expression than the shock that had appeared there when he'd set eyes on Charlie.

"Hey, Charlie," he said with a slightly subdued smile. "How are you doing?"

"A little better than I look, I guess."

David couldn't help but laugh, although it sounded unnaturally high. "I sure hope so, because you look like… well, really not good."

"Which is why we should get going," Don said tersely.

David exchanged a look with him and nodded. They had to get their head in the game. They couldn't allow themselves to make a mistake, or Charlie would pay the price.

The walk (or wheel) to David's car was made without an incident. They helped Charlie into the backseat and Dr. Anderson insisted that he sat there sideways with his legs on the seat and leaned against her with his back, assuming more or less the same position he'd held in the hospital bed. The ride was spent in silence for the most part with Dr. Anderson being too busy to make sure her patient was doing okay and the agents making sure that no one was following them. They wouldn't have needed to worry though.

When they arrived at the house, Charlie had fallen asleep again and when they woke him up, he seemed to have a hard time to suppress moans of pain. While his heart rate seemed stable, the consequences of the medical procedures he'd endured that day, especially of the CPR, were making themselves known, and moving around didn't seem like something advisable under those circumstances.

"Okay, buddy, just a few more yards and then you can lie down and rest, I promise."

Charlie just nodded. His eyes were closed tightly, his teeth clenched and the grip with which he held himself to Don and David as they helped him out of the car was more than firm.

Don and David kept watching their surroundings as Dr. Anderson pushed Charlie's chair towards the front door, but couldn't detect anything out of the ordinary.

The front door was opened, but Don cut his father's greetings short. "Inside, now," he hissed and kept looking back until they were all safely inside and the door was closed behind him. Only now did he allow himself to take a breath.

In the meanwhile, Charlie's arrival hadn't proceeded silently. Especially Larry and Amita, who hadn't been allowed to visit him, were excited to see him and more than a little shocked to see him like that.

"Oh my G-d, Charlie, you look awful!" Amita exclaimed with a slightly teary quality in her voice.

"Is he okay?" Larry asked no one in particular.

"Let's get you settled, son," Alan chimed in. "Is there anything you need?" Instead of waiting for an answer, he turned towards the doctor, "What can we do for him?"

"I'm fine," Charlie said, making an effort to articulate the words loudly and clearly so they would hear him in the hustle. His next words betrayed that effort by being a lot more slurred. "Jus' really exhausted."

"Let's just get you settled and then you can sleep," Dr. Anderson said and expertly arranged the cushions and bedclothes of the old foldable bed they'd found in the attic and that they'd put in the living room. It was a bit rusty, but it had an adjustable backrest which Alan had already put up the way Charlie's bed had been like at the hospital.

Charlie moaned and held his left chest again when they made the transition.

"Charlie?" Alan worriedly asked. "What is it?"

"Just my ribs," Charlie said, again through clenched teeth, and Don thought he could hear a hint of irritation in his voice. Good. If Charlie was getting impatient by people fussing over him, things were getting back to normal.

"I'm so sorry about that, Charles," Larry said while Dr. Anderson arranged the bedclothes. "I never meant to hurt you, I just –"

"Larry!" Charlie said and this time, Don was sure he wasn't the only one who detected the exasperated tone. Charlie took some time to breathe, and only he himself knew whether it was in order not to snap at his friend or to control the pain. When he spoke again, he made sure to lock eyes with Larry. "You saved my life." The words reverberated in the room and Charlie let them sink in before he added just as earnestly, "Thank you."

They were silent. It looked as though Larry was about to say something, but no words came out of his mouth and eventually, he just nodded.

"Well, I'm sorry to put an end to this evening," Dr. Anderson's words made them all jump a little, "but you should all leave now. Charlie needs to rest."

There was no chance of trying to go against the doctor's orders and Larry and Amita said their goodbyes while Don pulled David to the kitchen with him. Alan stepped closer to Dr. Anderson, who checked Charlie over one last time and then let her patient's father walk her to the front door.

He held his hand out towards her. "Thank you," he said quietly. "We won't forget what you did for us. Please, if there's anything we can do –"

"Don't mention it," she cut him off. Now that it seemed that her patient had come through the transport well, she was feeling much better about this whole affair.

"Well, let us at least invite you over for dinner sometime, when Charlie is better."

"Thank you," she said smiling, "that sounds lovely. But I'll need to bring my husband, if you don't mind. I'll have to explain to him somehow what kept me away from home tonight." She tilted her head a little. "I think he'll need to meet your family in person to understand why I did what I did tonight. Anyway, I'll be back tomorrow morning, but you should keep a close watch on Charlie tonight, and if anything happens, don't hesitate to first call for an ambulance, and then call me. And don't forget to mention the Quinidine to the paramedics."

Alan nodded, but she could see that he'd turned a shade paler. "Don't worry," she said, smiling. "I really don't think anything is going to happen tonight. But I guess we both just want to be on the safe side, don't we?"

He nodded, trying to give her that smile back, and she waved him good-bye.

* * *

"You want something?" Don asked when he and David entered the kitchen. "Beer?"

"Nah, I'm good, thanks. I'm about to head back to the office and join Colby and Liz."

"Did you find anything yet?"

David shook his head. "Not until I left. But we didn't really get that far." He hesitated. "Maybe we should ask Charlie if he can think of anyone who could have done that?"

"I already did, right when we told him about the drugs. Nobody popped to his mind, but I agree, we should ask him again, also about cases outside the FBI that he consulted on. Not tonight though. You too, you should call it a day, I'm gonna call Colby and Liz, tell them to go home as well. We need to get back to this with fresh eyes tomorrow."

"Alright. You're gonna watch Charlie tonight?"

Don nodded. "I'm gonna sleep on the couch. I don't think anything's going to happen, but I just want to make sure."

"Need some help with that?"

For the first time that evening, David saw his boss smile. "Nah. You just go home and get some rest. I'm gonna need your clear head tomorrow."

* * *

Even though Charlie wasn't doing much else than lying (or sitting) in bed, he felt entirely drained, and it was only half past nine in the morning. He'd found that simple tasks like eating breakfast – although he hadn't even needed to get up in the process – weren't as easy as they had been yesterday, and he still was constantly tired. Then, there was also the pain that centered in his chest, but made itself noticed in his entire body by an overall exhaustion. His ribs were the worst part, but this morning, the places where the AED had burnt his skin also started stinging.

Dr. Anderson however was pleased with his progress and when he thought about the fact that not even 24 hours ago, someone had tried to kill him (something he preferred _not_ thinking about), he had to agree with her. She had just left, but there was already someone else at the door and Charlie began wondering how on earth he was supposed to get some rest this way. The only consolation was that he figured that those constant interruptions of his sleep wouldn't have been much less at the hospital.

"Is he awake?" he heard Don's quiet voice float over from the door.

"Of course he's awake, how is he supposed to sleep in Grand Central Station?" he called out to his brother.

A grinning Don stepped into his field of vision, closely followed by a slightly apprehensive looking Colby. "So you're better today," his brother said.

"Well, depends on your point of reference," Charlie muttered. Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see his dad's worried face, and quickly added, "But a lot better than yesterday, yeah."

"You're up for some questions then?"

Charlie nodded. "I've been thinking about who might have done this, but I really couldn't think of anyone, I'm sorry."

"Well, that's what we're here for, Charlie," Colby said. He'd lost his apprehension now that he realized that Charlie was apparently more or less in the same state he always was, except for the unusual lack of constant movement. "You just need to tell us what cases you consulted on, let's say within the last six months."

Charlie looked back and forth between them, but apparently they were serious. "You mean all of them?"

"Relax, Charlie," Don tried to calm him, "you can leave out the FBI cases, we know all about them, and apart from those, there have only been two or three others, right? So we should be able to get through them fairly quickly and then you can go back to sleep."

Charlie was still staring at them, unsure how to form into words what he needed to say.

"What?" his big brother prompted and all of a sudden, Charlie felt like he was being interrogated.

"There may have been more than two or three cases. Those were just the bigger ones, the ones I didn't work on completely from home or from my office."

Don was frowning now. "I don't recall you mentioning any other cases than the two or three I was referring to."

Charlie bit his lip. "I may not have mentioned them."

"How many cases are we talking about, Charlie?" A certain wariness had entered Don's voice.

This time, it wasn't tiredness that made him mumble. "'Bout twenty."

"What?!"

Just because he'd expected the outburst didn't stop him from flinching.

"Don," Colby tried to calm his boss with a nervous glance at Charlie.

Don was still staring at him as though he'd just announced he'd robbed a bank, but made an effort to get back on track. "Alright. So, about twenty." His voice became a little bitter when he added, looking down at his notepad which had to be still empty, "How again come I haven't heard about those?"

Charlie sighed. In some regards, Don had a tendency to blow things out of proportion. "Most of them were just minor consultations, sometimes only a few questions about an algorithm I wrote, stuff like that." He could see that Don was still pissed, so he added, "I also write a lot of papers and give a lot of lectures I don't tell you about, and that doesn't bother you either."

"Well, people don't get killed for their papers or their lectures."

"Alright," Colby broke off the argument before it could really begin, "let's just start with the most recent one."

Charlie bit his lip again and studied his bedclothes, even though they weren't all that interesting. "That's not that easy," he said, very quietly.

"Why," Don said and his tone was so sharp that it didn't really sound like a question. It probably wasn't, for Don had to know what he was about to say.

"Most of what I did is classified," he said and flinched again when Don suddenly stood from his chair and walked around the room.

"You've got to be kidding me," he heard him murmur.

"Alright," Colby said, a bit louder than would have been necessary. "I don't think this is going to work, so maybe we should concentrate on that guy's methodology. I mean, whoever did this apparently composed a cocktail of pain killers to mask that other drug, so it seems more than likely that our guy has some medical expertise. Plus, if he had access to those drugs and if he knew how to combine them and administer them without you noticing, we might be talking about someone in the pharmaceutical area. Have you come into contact with someone like that recently?"

Charlie went through his most recent consulting gigs in his mind, trying to find someone who fit that description. Then it hit him and his eyes widened. "I've done some work for the CDC!"

"The Center for Disease Control?" Colby asked.

Charlie nodded. "Not within the last six months, but some of the people I came across there definitely have the know-how you're talking about."

Colby nodded. "The know-how is a more substantial aspect than the time frame, especially if the motive is revenge. Who knows, maybe our perp was convicted to a prison sentence by an investigation you consulted on and was just released? In any case we'll need all the information you can give us about your cases for the CDC."

Charlie swallowed. A queasy feeling had started to spread in his stomach. "You really think someone tried to kill me in order to take revenge?" he asked.

Colby raised his eye-brows. "Does that really surprise you, with all the consulting you do?"

"Granger!"

This time, both he and Colby flinched at Don's outburst.

"Sorry," Colby hastened to say, his tone unusually timid.

Charlie shook his head. "It's okay. It's just… I think I can see someone trying to incapacitate me to keep me from figuring something out, you know, when I'm actually working on something. But this… I'm not even working on it anymore. It's just… it seems so much more evil." He swallowed again and when he saw the concerned looks on their faces, he made an effort to pull himself together. He took a deep breath and winced when that gave him a stab at his ribs. "Let's just go through these cases."

* * *

When he came home that night, Don made sure not to make any sound as he opened the front door of his childhood home and closed it behind himself. He could see that the only light turned on in the living room was a reading light for his father who was sitting in his favorite armchair, only a yard away from Charlie's temporary sleeping place. At the peaceful image, Don felt some tension leave he hadn't even known that had been building up inside him. The feeling of relief didn't last for long, though, for as he took a closer look at his little brother, he frowned.

"He's been working?" he asked, trying hard to keep his voice to a whisper so that he didn't disturb his sleeping brother.

"Relax, Don," his father tried to calm him down, but the unconcerned tone was threatening to irritate him even more than the papers lying on Charlie's stomach.

"He's supposed to rest," Don hissed and escaped to the kitchen for three reasons, one, so that he didn't have to face his father which might prompt him to say something disrespectful, two, because he didn't have to be quiet there, and, last but not least, to get himself a beer.

He heard the armchair squeak and his father follow him.

"He's doing fine, Donnie," his dad said when they entered the kitchen, but his voice was still subdued. "The thing that's been bothering him most today is that he's bored out of his mind."

"That doesn't –"

"Actually," his dad interrupted him with the authority that only a father possessed, "he became downright agitated in his boredom. He started changing positions and moving around, so I decided that giving in and letting him occupy his mind a little was the lesser evil."

Don was silent. He wasn't sure whether he would have reacted in the same way, but he knew that his dad had only done what he'd thought was best for Charlie, and since the man had some experience in that field, Don had to admit that he had to trust his judgment.

Before he could decide whether he should apologize for his harshness, the doorbell rang and he closed his eyes with a hint of exasperation. So much for trying to keep quiet.

Just as he'd feared, the noise had aroused Charlie who was getting himself into a more comfortable position as Don went to open the door.

"When did you get here?" Charlie asked, still sounding a bit sleepy, but otherwise normal. He seemed to be getting his strength back really quickly.

"Just now," he said and Amita's and Larry's entrance ended their conversation before he could berate him about working again.

"Charlie! How are you doing?" Amita asked and Don was glad that her voice sounded normal again and had lost its teary quality from the day before. She still seemed a little apprehensive as though she didn't quite trust the improvement she saw, but then again, weren't they all?

"I'm doing great," Charlie said. Don raised his eye-brows at that, but he had to admit that there was something of Charlie's old vigor in his tone. Things seemed indeed to be getting better fast. But, of course, not fast enough for his ever-overachieving little brother. "I can't wait until we finally stop this charade and take this bed back to the attic where it belongs."

"One more night," their dad said in a voice that was both gentle and stern, a way in which only a dad could talk. "Just to be sure. You heard Dr. Anderson."

"Yeah," Charlie sighed, "I did."

"So, Don," Amita said, "how's the investigation going? Maybe there's something Larry and I could do? We'd really like to help."

"I could help, too," Charlie said hopefully, but the four stern pairs of eyes that were directed at him left no doubt as to what they thought about his idea. "Just saying," he muttered.

"That won't be necessary," Don said and let himself lower onto the couch. This might become a longer conversation. "We got her."

"What?"

The unbelieving sound had come from four throats more or less simultaneously and Don ran his hands over his face. G-d, he was tired.

"We got her," he repeated. "She's in custody." He locked eyes with his brother. "She won't harm you anymore."

Charlie was shaking his head slightly. "Who is she?"

"Sarah Reynolds," Don said and watched Charlie search his mind until he found the answer and his face was lit by sudden understanding, which was soon followed by a look of utter confusion. "Wasn't she with CalMeds, Inc.? Why would she want to kill me?"

"You remember her father? He owned the company."

Charlie shook his head. "I never even met him. Why? What does he have to do with everything?"

"Everything," Don said and took a deep breath. He addressed his words primarily to the other three people in the room, mostly because it was easier to talk _about_ Charlie than to explain _to_ him why someone had wanted him dead.

"So a year ago, Charlie consulted on something for the CDC. It's not really important what it was about, but in the course of his work, he analyzed data from different pharmaceutical companies, among them CalMeds, Inc." Now he just had to look back at his brother. "She was the one who provided you with the data you requested, remember? She brought them over to CalSci, where you were working, and answered your questions about them."

Charlie frowned. "I remember, but what –"

"That's how she learned your routine. She knew where your office is, that you aren't too keen on locking your door, that you're often working there for hours and that you like writing on chalkboards. She even learned what kind of chalk you use."

Charlie was shaking his head again. "Yeah, but what –"

"Forensics examined Charlie's office this morning," Don continued, staring at the table during the explanation, but always seeing the calm face of Sarah Reynolds as she'd sat there during the interrogation. "When the lab examined the chalk, they found that it held both the Quinidine and the pain killer cocktail. Apparently she somehow managed to tamper with the chalk so that those substances could enter the body merely through skin contact. When we questioned her, she admitted that when Charlie left his office for a couple of minutes yesterday morning, she sneaked in and swapped one of his packs of chalk with the one she'd tampered with. The more he wrote, the more of those substances entered his system until after a few hours, it was just too much for his body to handle."

He looked up and was confronted with four shocked faces.

"Why?"

The croaking sound came from Charlie, but Don looked back at the table and continued talking about him rather than to him. "In the data Sarah Reynolds provided Charlie with last year, he found inconsistencies. Eventually he realized that CalMeds was committing fraud. Some people of the company's leadership, among them Sarah Reynolds' father, were arrested, and he was sentenced to three years of prison." More quietly, he said, "He killed himself two months ago."

"What?"

Don shrugged, not sure whether he was willing to care about the father of the woman who'd tried to kill his brother. "Apparently he couldn't handle prison. Anyway, Sarah decided to blame Charlie for what her family went through during and after the trial, and she decided to take revenge."

Don had his teeth clenched now that he thought back to Sarah's interrogation. It had been conducted by David and Liz because his team had agreed unanimously on not letting him anywhere near her, and also Colby had admitted to not trusting himself around their suspect. In hindsight, Don was glad about his team's resoluteness because he had to admit that he didn't know what he would have done if he'd found himself in the same room with her. Only watching from the observation room had filled him with a kind of hatred he'd never felt before, never in this intensity. Even now, after she'd effectively hospitalized Charlie and had been apprehended, she didn't make the impression of having any regrets about what she'd done to him. On the contrary, she kept repeating that Charlie _deserved_ what she'd done to him, that he would have deserved to die, that he was to blame for what had happened to her family, for her mother starting to drink, for her brother going his own ways and abandoning them and for her father losing his freedom, his reputation and, eventually, his life. Don had caught himself fantasizing about strangling her, making the words stop coming out of her mouth, and that had been the moment when he'd decided to leave the office and return to his family.

"I never meant to hurt anyone," Charlie's voice stopped his musings. When he looked up, he could see that his brother was more than a little upset, and his hatred for Sarah Reynolds increased even more. "I just thought –"

"Stop it, Charlie," Don said and was a bit shocked at how harsh his words sounded. He tried to dial it down a notch, but realized it was too difficult a task for him right now. "None of this was your fault. Mr. Reynolds and his colleagues decided to commit fraud, so they had to accept the consequences for breaking the law. You just made sure that the law could be enacted upon, and that is a good thing. Don't you dare blaming yourself for that."

Charlie swallowed and nodded. They were silent for a few moments.

It was finally Alan who broke the silence. "Well, let's just be glad that you, Don, and your team made sure that the law can be enacted upon once more this time," he said with that optimistic attitude that always managed to pull his sons out of a downcast state. "I guess we may expect not to hear from this Miss Reynolds again."

"Yeah, you can count on that," Don muttered, but his heart felt a little lighter now that he'd told them about the events of the day, and it started to dawn on him that it was actually over now. He could finally get some rest without having to fear that someone might decide to end his little brother's life.

"So," his dad said, rubbing his hands, "what do you say about dinner?"

"I'll help you," Amita said immediately and jumped up from her seat.

"Yeah, I'll see if I can arrange the furniture so we can eat here, what do you think?" Don suggested with a side-glance at Charlie.

"I can sit at the table while eating. I'm not an invalid."

"You are tonight," Don contradicted him and ruffled his hair as he stood to get some plates. "You heard Dr. Anderson," he repeated his father's earlier words and actually started enjoying this.

The graveness of the situation soon dissipated in the familial atmosphere over dinner. The mood was good and stayed good even after dinner, and they were merry enough to even make some jokes at Charlie's expense, who took them good-naturedly. Things were getting back to normal.

"Hey, Larry," Charlie suddenly called out to him. "You've been awfully quiet tonight."

Larry made a slight movement of his head, just enough to fully face Charlie. He had occupied one of the chairs from the dining room table and was sitting on it the wrong way round with his arms resting on the backrest. Now that Charlie had turned their attention towards him, Don could see that he had that faraway look in his eyes he often had, and when he started to talk, it became apparent why.

"Remember when we talked, shortly after my return from space," Larry said, "I told you that I decided that my next endeavor would be the exploration of my own mind." He was silent, but nobody interrupted him. "Recent events made me wonder if this endeavor might not be ill-conceived."

"Really? Why?" Charlie said frowning, maybe because he read an insult in those words concerning his own work, the cognitive emergence theory.

Larry stared into his glass that he kept turning slightly, at the white milk that was wavering in a little vortex that maybe reminded him of the vortex of galaxies. "While exploring the mind seems to be an honorable endeavor," he continued after some time, "focusing all one's efforts on it, especially if focusing on merely one's own mind, seems more than a little self-centered. There are two things that we have to bear in mind, one, we do not merely consist of our mind. Each and every one of us has been endowed by nature with a body of bone and flesh that is in itself a wonder of this world. And two, life is short. Death comes to all of us, and sometimes it comes sooner than we think."

Everyone was quiet for some time, all of them thinking about how scarcely they'd escaped only yesterday from death disrupting their world.

"Whereas no one knows what happens to our minds after we die," Larry continued, "we know what happens to our bodies. We have seen decay, we know all about the circle of life. Therefore, rather than one-sidedly exploring merely the mind, it seems more sensible to stretch out our thinking and embrace the body as the other aspect of our human existence for as long as we can."

His words were hanging in the air for some moments. It was finally Charlie who broke the silence. "Yeah, that's similar to what I've been thinking about."

Don raised his eye-brows. "It is? What have you been thinking?"

"That I want to embrace life more. Live a little more in the moment." A playful grin appeared on his lips as he put one arm around Amita's waist, who was sitting at his bedside, and used the other one to bring her hand to his lips and kiss it. "Enjoy feelings and sensations. You know. I don't want to wake up one day and realize that I haven't been living. I don't want my life to pass me by until it's too late."

Don swallowed. He'd been wondering whether Charlie would rethink his life's choices after this event, and he wasn't surprised that he had. "So what does that mean…" He hesitated, not sure whether he wanted to hear the answer. "What about your consulting work? You're gonna put an end to that now?"

Charlie frowned. "Why would I want to do that?"

Don just gave him a stern look. As a certified genius, his brother should be clever enough to figure out that his consulting work had just almost gotten him killed and almost cut his life short before he could embrace it.

"Look, Don – I said I wanted to embrace life, not hide from it. There are certain risks involved in every aspect of our lives. We can get killed in an automobile accident on any given day, but that doesn't stop us from getting into the car or out on the street, because if we tried to eliminate every risk in life, life as we know it and as we find it worth living would end before it had even begun. So no, I won't quit consulting just because it got a little scary this time." The playful grin appeared on his face again as he added, "Don't think that you can get rid of me that easily."

\- finis -

* * *

 **A** **/N:** I feel the need to add some **disclaimers**. If parts of the ending sounded familiar to you, this might be due to parallels to a quote by Henry David Thoreau ("…and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived"). And if the general topic seemed somehow familiar: I'm actually not sure when I had this idea and where it came from, but I may have been influenced by another current story on this website, namely 'Scared' by lizaD, which you might want to read if you like CharlieWhump ;)


	6. Fanatic

**Disclaimer:** Did you know that Numb3rs and its characters don't belong to me?  
 **Rating:** T, but be warned that this is the creepiest chapter so far  
 **Timeline:** shortly after 4-06 In Security  
 **A/N:** So this may not be one of the better chapters, but I just had too much fun writing it. Still hope you enjoy. At least there'll be some protective Don ;)

* * *

 **Fanatic**

There he was again. His dark curls were the first thing she saw. The next was the spark in his eyes, that glint that revealed the intelligent mind that was covered by those curls. Phoebe's heart started beating more forcefully in her chest.

He was adjusting his laptop bag as he came closer to the counter and she watched him, waiting until she could see that spark again.

"Um… hello?"

She gave a start and forced herself to look at her next customer, a false smile on her lips. "I'm sorry, what can I do for you?"

The student placed his order and she hurried to get it done, impatiently working off the other customers in the line until it would be his turn.

"Hey, Charlie," she smiled.

He looked up at her and there it was again, the spark, enthroned above that radiating smile that she loved so much.

"Hey, Phoebe," he said and she felt a warmth spread in her heart.

"The usual?" she asked and already grabbed a coffee cup for him.

"Yes, please," he smiled and she set to work. She could feel his eyes on her back when she turned around to the coffee machine and she told herself not to blush, not to make a fool out of herself.

"Here you go," she said as she handed him the coffee. Their fingers touched briefly and it was as though a jolt of electricity ran through her body, making her feel suddenly alive. "Enjoy your day."

"Thanks, you too," he said and she watched him leave, trying not to let it show on her face what that did to her, how she felt her chest be torn apart with longing.

 _He'll come again_ , she told herself and managed to put the smile back on her face as she turned to the next customer. _Tomorrow. Tomorrow, you'll see him again._ She had to fight hard to hide her anticipation, because tomorrow would be a very special day. It was the next step for their relationship, and it was only one day away.

It had been three months ago that she'd first set eyes on him. She could remember their first encounter as if it had been only yesterday. It had been evening, always a quiet time in the coffee shop, and he'd been the only customer.

When he'd placed his order, she'd been so captured by that smile and those chocolate brown eyes that it had taken her a second to realize she had to make him his coffee now. She'd been a little flustered and had dropped some coffee cups, luckily just empty ones and made of paper.

"You're new around here, aren't you?" he'd said.

She'd shaken her head. She had had his back towards him and had been busying herself with the coffee machine, waiting for her face to lose some of its heat. "I've been working here for almost a year now, almost always this shift."

"I don't think I've seen you here before," he'd glanced at her nameplate when she'd turned around again, "Phoebe. But then again, I usually come here in the morning. Hey, did you know that Phoebe is also the name of one of Saturn's moons?" She had felt a twinge of disappointment. She would have liked him to say something a little more original than that. "Yeah, okay, you probably did, I guess I'm not the first scientist who bought his coffee from you." He'd smiled at her a little apologetically and she had felt the disappointment melt away in an instant. "But you know what's funny? Phoebe means 'bright' or 'shining' in Greek, but actually it's one of Saturn's darkest moons, it's almost black."

"Really?" She hadn't known that. Well, the part about bright and shining, but not the other thing. This guy was smart, like really smart, not like those boasters she'd dated so far. And he was cute. _Really_ cute. When he'd left with his coffee and had turned his back towards her, she had had to contain herself not to make a telltale noise when she'd stared after him. He didn't just have the brains and the smile and the eyes and the hair, no – he had a damn fine ass, too.

She'd tried to get her shift changed then so she could work in the morning, and from the next week onwards, she had seen him almost every day, and almost every day he would give her that smile of his that told her he was interested in her as well. True, she'd seen him around with that dark-haired woman, but that didn't have to mean anything. At first, she hadn't been sure what to think about her, nor what to think about him and his feelings towards her, but then, two weeks ago, his book had been published and everything was clear to her now. How could he publish a book on relationships if he'd just broken up with his girlfriend? Of course he had to pretend for a little while longer.

As soon as she'd found out about the book, she'd bought it and read it, most parts more than once by now, and it had eliminated all the doubts that she may still have had. It was just too obvious, there were phrases in that book, references that pointed explicitly to her, and she'd known: he felt about her the same way she felt about him.

She'd waited for him to come forward, but then she'd realized he had to continue playing his part for now and she'd decided to at least let him know that she knew what was going on, that he didn't have to be careful around her, that he didn't have to be afraid to show his feelings towards her.

She'd written him the letter yesterday and pushed it through under the door of his office this morning before she'd started her shift. She imagined that he was reading it right now, she imagined his face lighten up with joy and relief when he understood that she was reciprocating his feelings.

 _Tomorrow_ , she thought. _Your dream will start coming true tomorrow. Or maybe he'll come by later today, who knows?_

* * *

Charlie was juggling his bag, his coffee cup and the key to his office until he actually managed to open it and stepped in. He'd hardly entered when he slipped on something and spilled some coffee that landed on his hand.

"Damn," he muttered, putting the coffee cup on the table and grabbing a tissue before the brown liquid could get on his jacket. Only then did he put his bag down and look at the floor to see what had made him slip.

It was a letter. The envelope was white, completely white, with no address or sender on it, but the paper inside was of a pale dark blue with a tinge of violet. Frowning, Charlie unfolded it and read.

 _Dear Charlie,_

 _I just want you to know that I've read your book. It's wonderful, just what I would have expected from you: witty, funny and gentle, in short, a piece of genius._

 _Yours truly_

There was no signature and Charlie automatically turned the paper around, but the back was empty. He looked up and out of his still open office door, trying to determine if someone was watching him, someone who had planted the letter here. Or was it real? It somehow seemed too strange to be real. A bit exaggerated. A bit too personal, like the writer knew him. But who that he knew would write him a letter like that? Amita? But he knew she'd read the book, hell, she'd _proofread_ it. Maybe another colleague? But Charlie couldn't think of anyone. And a student surely wouldn't have signed it with 'Yours truly', right?

He shook his head and decided to let the mystery wait for a while, he had work to do.

* * *

"Look who it is, our published author!" Colby said when Charlie had entered the bullpen and was approaching them. "How did you manage to break free from the herds of fans following you?"

Charlie grinned a bit ruefully. "Yeah, very funny," he said and would suddenly have liked to be somewhere else. He was glad he had published that book, he thought it might contribute to making a wider audience be interested in the wonders of math, but somehow, he always felt a bit silly about it whenever he was around those hardened FBI agents.

"So I did some enhancement on those pictures you gave me," he said a bit too fast, trying to get over Colby's teasing as quickly as possible. "It's not much, but I thought I'd let you decide whether you can work with that or whether you would like me to try something else to get a better result."

"Alright, show us what you've got," Don said and led them into one of the conference rooms.

While he was setting up his laptop, Colby's words reverberated in Charlie's mind and a suspicion was forming in it. Maybe Colby had written that note? True, it seemed to be a woman's handwriting and it definitely didn't look like Colby's, but maybe he'd asked someone else to write those lines for him? In any event, Charlie could definitely see him pull a prank like that, he'd been teasing him about the book release since… well, since the book had been released. Probably would have started earlier if he'd only known about it.

 _Alright, Colby,_ Charlie thought, _two can play this game. I certainly won't fall for your tricks._

* * *

This was it. Her heart-rate was accelerating again. Today was the day. She'd been a little disappointed yesterday that he hadn't come to her right away, but she understood that it had to be this way, that this was what they had, and Charlie understood that it would be best to stick to their routine, to the tradition they'd managed to establish.

"Hello, Charlie," she greeted him with a radiant smile.

"Hey, Phoebe. I'll have my usual today."

She was waiting for him to say something else, something to show her that he had gotten her letter. Okay, so maybe he couldn't just say it out in the open, even though there was hardly anyone in here, but he could say something else to let her know that he'd appreciated it, right? He was a genius, for Chr-st's sake, he should be able to think of something. He could complement her on her new lipstick, for example. Or make a comment about her hair, she'd even gotten up half an hour earlier today to get that done.

"Um…" he said and she watched him with hardly containable tension. "One coffee with milk. Please. Tall."

What? What the hell was he doing?

It took her a moment to realize that people were starting to stare at her, and she pulled herself together. At least she could turn around as she made him that damn coffee and didn't have to look at him. It was probably better this way, with nobody seeing the confusion on her face. And the hurt. Why hadn't he said something?

"Here you go," she said, not looking him in the eye, as she handed him over the coffee.

"Thanks," he said, and then, "Have a nice day!"

She could feel tears starting to threaten. That was it. That was his acknowledgement, he had wished her a nice day, not as an answer to what she said to almost any costumer who came in here, but on his own account, he'd made the first step!

"You, too," she said, her voice thin.

* * *

Now that she knew that he was serious about her, she could hardly wait for their relationship to pick up pace, so she went out on campus after work. She sat on a bench that was overshadowed by trees, a bench from which she could watch him work, see him stand at his chalkboards and fill them with signs that she didn't understand, signs that most people in this world would never understand. She imagined being in there with him, how he would explain to her what he was doing, and she would listen to him and ask all the right questions and eventually, she'd make a remark or two, and he would say, 'You're right! I hadn't thought of that! What would I do without you!'

She smiled at the image, but her smile froze when she saw _her_ enter his office. He interrupted his work to take her in his arms and kiss her. She tried to imagine it was her he was holding like that, but she couldn't, the magic of her imagination had dissipated into thin air.

She just didn't understand. Why was he doing this? They were in his office, it wasn't like they were out in the open where he had to pretend. Yeah, okay, so technically they could be seen through the window, but that didn't make it necessary to put on such a show, now did it?

A growl escaped her. She would tell him he'd have to stop this, it was just ridiculous.

* * *

Equipped with his shoulder bag and his usual coffee, Charlie opened the door to his office and meant to step in, but stopped short. Damn. Another one. He looked at his watch. Seven thirty. How motivated did Colby have to be to come here before him and place his stupid letters? Or had he done that the previous night?

He bent down and opened it. Again it was a white envelope with that bluish-violet paper inside, again that nice handwriting that definitely wasn't Colby's.

 _Dear Charlie,_

 _don't you think this is getting a little silly? Just stop this charade and jump in at the deep end. I promise you, I won't let you drown._

 _Yours truly_

He frowned. That didn't sound like Colby at all, this wasn't just some teasing about his book, in fact, it sounded more like the kind of things he'd read when he'd consulted on stalking cases. But surely Colby wouldn't go so far to make him think he was being stalked?

The letter left an uneasy feeling in his stomach as he laid it down and got to work. After all, what was there to do? He had no idea whom they were coming from, so he couldn't react to them. And even though especially that last letter had some similarity with the tone stalkers used, this wasn't serious enough to get the LAPD involved. It was just two letters, they weren't even taunting or threatening, not really.

However, whatever he tried telling himself, those letters were always on his mind and he had a hard time concentrating on his work. He should probably just talk to someone about it, maybe Larry or Amita, ask them what they thought about this. He hadn't done that when he'd only had the first letter, not just because he hadn't had the time to track Larry down in his monastery and because with Amita, it was just too weird. No, at first he had kept this to himself primarily because he'd been unwilling to let them think he was falling for their prank (still not knowing who 'they' were), and then he'd actually forgotten about it. Now he didn't think he would be able to forget about it so soon.

He was restless and he didn't really get anything done until half an hour later Amita arrived, stopping by at his office as she usually did when she arrived in the morning.

"Hey, Charlie," she greeted him and put a kiss on his lips. "How are you doing?"

"Um, okay, I guess," he said and was suddenly reluctant to broach the subject. This was a bit silly after all, wasn't it? It was just letters, he shouldn't make a big deal out of it.

But it was too late. "What's wrong?" Amita asked, a frown on her face.

He shook his head and tried to laugh it off. "It's just these letters," he said. "I found them right here on the floor, this one two days ago and this one today."

She took them earnestly and while she read them, her frown became deeper.

"Who are they from?" she asked.

"I have no idea, that's the thing," he said.

Amita was still frowning. "They say 'Dear Charlie' and 'Yours truly', that sounds pretty personal. Especially the second one. You're sure you have no idea who may have written them?" A smile appeared on her lips, but it didn't seem all that happy. "An ex-girlfriend, maybe?"

Now it was his turn to frown. "I told you I don't know who wrote them. And I told you all about my past relationships, I don't think that's the answer to this."

"No. No, you're right, I don't think that either. But maybe you met someone recently?"

He was so dumbfounded he couldn't talk at first. "Amita," he stammered, "I don't… I haven't…"

She smiled, more genuinely this time. "Relax, Charlie. I know you're far too busy to have a second girlfriend, much less a secret one. But maybe you've been flirting with someone, maybe inadvertently?"

He shook his head, feeling a little desperate. "Amita, I wouldn't do that to you –"

"Just think, Charlie. Have you been spending a lot of time with someone recently? Or felt like someone gave you a little too much attention?"

He shook his head again. "No, I mean, with the book released, people come up to talk to me every now and then, but there was no flirting involved, never."

She cupped his left cheek with her hand and gave him a kiss on the other one. "Maybe not on your part," she said softly. "But trust me, there's a lot of flirting going on that you're completely unaware of."

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. "So what are you going to do about this? You're going to show them to Don?"

He sighed and was silent for a second before he answered. "You think I should?"

She shrugged, but couldn't really display the nonchalance she was going for. "Better safe than sorry, right?"

* * *

"Okay, that's it," Charlie said and projected the image onto the wall. "This should be good enough now, right?"

He'd done some more enhancement of the pictures they'd gotten from a surveillance camera in front of the robbed bank, taken right when the robbers had left the building. There still wasn't much to see, but apparently it was now finally enough for the team.

They nodded collectively and seemed suddenly more alert. "Yeah, that's what I was talking about," Don said as he got up from his chair. "Good work, Charlie, thanks. Okay, David and Colby, you let those run through facial recognition software and check with the databases, Megan, you and I try to get other clues from their appearance, you know, gender, age, clothing."

They were filing out back into their cubicles and Charlie packed up his laptop. When he stashed it in his bag, his eyes fell on the two letters he'd taken with him to show to his brother. He still wasn't sure if he wasn't overreacting, if this wasn't a joke after all. But he'd paid close attention to Colby's body language ever since he'd arrived and he wasn't behaving in any special way, in any event he didn't show any curiosity about whether Charlie had found the letters or not. He might be acting and maybe Charlie was about to make a complete and utter fool of himself, but how had Amita put it, better safe than sorry, right?

"Hey, Don?" he said as he stood a bit nervously at his brother's cubicle.

Don and Megan were staring intently at the picture he'd enhanced and conversing in low voices. He didn't even look up from the screen. "Yeah, Charlie, something else?"

A lump had formed in Charlie's throat and he had to clear it. "Um, no, I was just wondering, you know, if you're not busy…" He trailed off.

"Yeah, well, I _am_ a little busy here, Charlie." Still staring at the screen.

"Um, yeah, right. Of course. Okay then. Good luck."

With quick steps, he left, his head bent down.

* * *

That evening, Amita had wanted to prepare for a conference she would leave for the next day and Charlie was a bit glad he didn't have to face her and answer her questions about whether he'd talked to Don about those letters. After all, it hadn't really been important, the only reason he would have asked Don would have been to get some reassurance that he didn't need to worry, but it wasn't really necessary for Don to tell him that, so it wasn't really necessary to show him the letters.

When he'd left the FBI, he'd been wondering whether he should go to the LAPD. He could at least make it official, and maybe the writer of the letters would somehow learn about that and get cold feet and stop whatever it was he or she was doing. But eventually he had decided against it, there was no real crime involved and he didn't want to make the impression he was trying to make himself important.

He'd gone to bed early that night and was now chastising himself for it. He couldn't sleep. He felt restless and he couldn't stop thinking about those letters even though he knew it was stupid. _Just stop this charade and jump in at the deep end…_ What on earth was that supposed to mean? There was no charade going on, none that he was aware of, and he wasn't clear on what he was supposed to do by 'jumping in at the deep end'. He just felt that the words sounded more impatient than in the first letter, and he had to admit to himself that this development scared him. What was going to happen if he didn't do what the writer wanted him to do, which he couldn't do because he had no idea what it was?

"Stop it now," he told himself. He was just getting paranoid. He was overreacting because he'd been around too much violence and evil to handle some simple letters. There was nothing the writer was going to do to him, and certainly nothing to be afraid of.

* * *

He awoke early the next morning, even before his alarm clock rang. He decided to make use of this opportunity and head to CalSci earlier than usual, maybe early enough to leapfrog whoever was writing these letters. He arrived there a little before seven in the morning and the Campus was almost empty, but when he stepped into his office, the letter was already lying there on the floor.

He took in a shaky breath. He was getting enough of this. Why didn't whoever was writing those letters just come forward and confront him? Why that secrecy? What was their goal?

He was already about to pick it up when he stopped himself short. For a minute, he just stood there staring at the envelope, but then decided that nobody was going to see him anyway, so he took a ruler and a pair of scissors and used them to pick the letter up and pull it out of its envelope in an attempt to avoid destroying any evidence that might be on it.

 _Evidence_ , Charlie thought and snorted softly. As if this was something like a case. It was just a letter, after all. No need to be quite so dramatic.

He still didn't use his hands but instead the ruler and the scissors to unfold the letter. What he read made his stomach turn.

 _Dear Charlie,_

 _it's alright, I understand that you have to pretend to be happy with her. I mean, you can't simply break up with her right after having published a book on relationships, can you? I'm not angry with you. It's okay to do what's prudent, and I can tell it's wearing you down as well. So it's okay to pretend, but please, you have to stop hurting us both. I understand we can only be together secretly for now, and I don't mind, I knew what I was getting myself into. But you have to make your move now, Charlie, soon._

 _Yours truly_

Charlie swallowed hard when he reached the ending. This was getting a little scary. A little _too_ scary for his taste. After everything he'd learned so far from his involvement with law enforcement, he didn't like what he was reading at all. True, it could still only be an elaborate joke, but now that whoever had written that had started to drag Amita into this, the point where the fun ended for Charlie had definitely been reached.

He could feel a queasy sensation in his stomach as he pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

"Charlie?"

She sounded a little sleepy and Charlie remembered she'd told him yesterday she'd be working late and sleep in today. Well, he'd ruined that.

"Hey Amita, I'm sorry, did I wake you up?"

He heard a heavy sigh. "Pretty effectively, yes."

He swallowed. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm just… You're okay, right?"

There was a moment of silence at the other end and he could practically hear her frown when she answered, "Of course I am, what's wrong?"

Charlie didn't answer. What was wrong? _Was_ there something wrong?

"Charlie?"

"Look, it's probably nothing, it's just…" He sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. "I got another one of those letters," he said as he watched the few students that were strolling outside, wondering if one of them was responsible for this. "And it mentions you. And it's… I don't know."

"Read it to me."

He did. When he'd finished, Amita was silent for a moment.

"And you have no idea who could have written that?"

Charlie closed his eyes in exasperation. "Amita, I don't have a clue, I swear! I'm not seeing anyone and I haven't even –"

"Charlie, stop. I believe you, okay?" Charlie kept his eyes closed as a wave of relief rushed through him. "But if you really don't know who wrote them, this is stalking, and if you ask me, it's getting a little scary. What did Don have to say about this?"

Charlie was silent, but that was enough of an answer for Amita.

"Charlie… I really think you should tell him about this." She paused for a moment. "Please."

He was looking outside again, thinking that the people were behaving the way they were any other day, the patterns of their movements were the same. Something had changed, though. Something had robbed him of the peace he usually felt at that image and replaced it with another sensation, one of insecurity and dread.

"Alright," he said and had to clear his throat. "I'm gonna talk to him. And Amita… I'm gonna pick you up later, okay? Don't go anywhere alone. Please."

* * *

Don was just stepping out of the shower when he heard his cell ringing. He cursed softly and hurried through his flat naked to get it before it would go to voice mail.

"Eppes," he said a bit breathlessly and started to towel himself.

"Don, hey. I was wondering if you'd pick up."

"Oh, Charlie, hey. Yeah, sorry, I was in the shower. So what's up, you did some further tweaking of those pictures or what?"

There was some silence at the other end. "No." Some more silence. Don was frowning now, wondering what the hell this was, but then Charlie went on, "Don, I… I think I've got a problem."

Don abruptly stopped his one-handed attempt to dry himself off. Despite having just left the shower, his mouth felt suddenly very dry. "What's wrong?" When he didn't get a reply immediately, he added, a little panicked, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," was his brother's reply, but he didn't sound like it. "It's probably nothing. And there's probably nothing you can do, it's just that Amita told me to call you and… I don't know, I… I'm kind of scared, Don."

Well, okay. Now, Don was scared, too. "What happened?" he asked and told himself not to grip his phone that tightly or he might break it.

"It's just letters, three of them. I didn't take them seriously at first, but now whoever wrote them mentioned Amita and they say I have to make a move soon now and stop pretending to be happy with her…" For a moment, all he could hear was Charlie's breathing, then his brother's voice came back, stronger now, deeper. "Look, it's probably nothing, it's just that I promised Amita I would tell you. I'm sorry I just called you out of the blue to tell you about that, I wasn't thinking it through. Look, I'm going to see if I can do something else with those pictures for you and then I'll stop by at your office later today and… I mean maybe we could see about that then if you can make the time."

He could hear in Charlie's tone that he was about to end the conversation, so he called out a bit more forcefully than he normally would have, "Wait!"

True, he didn't know what to think of it, but if it had managed to upset Charlie like that and if Amita had told him to ask for his help, then it seemed serious enough to be on the lookout. "Just stay where you are, okay? You're at your office?" At Charlie's confirmation, he went on, "Okay, I'll be there in a couple of minutes. But if you notice anything out of the ordinary before I'm there, just call me, alright?"

"Alright. Thanks."

Don ran his hand through his wet hair, thinking that this day was starting out perfectly. "Yeah, no problem, buddy."

* * *

Don's mouth was a thin line when he had finished reading the last letter. He didn't like the tone of that one at all.

"So when did you get these?"

"The first one three days ago, the second one yesterday, and this one this morning. They'd all been pushed through under my door before I got here in the morning."

Don was frowning. Three days ago? "Why are you only telling me about this now?"

Charlie averted his gaze. "I didn't know what to think about the first one, I thought it might be just a joke."

"Yeah okay, so what about the second one? A bit harder to consider that a joke, don't you think?"

Charlie was silent for a moment. "I still wasn't sure. I mean, I tried to talk to you, but you were busy and –"

"What?" Don was frowning harder now. His brother had tried to talk to him about this? "When?"

"Yesterday, in your office. You and Megan were busy with interpreting those images and I –"

"Charlie!" Don cut him off and grabbed his shoulder, making his little brother look up at him. He'd tried to talk to Don about this and he hadn't even noticed? How was that possible? And how was it possible that Don had had no idea that Charlie had had something on his mind? And why on earth had Charlie thought that Don being busy would be a reason not to talk to him about this? "You can _always_ come to me if you've got a problem!" he managed to say, but the dismay was evident in his voice. "I thought you knew that."

"Yeah, I know," Charlie mumbled, but didn't meet his eyes. After some seconds, he cleared his throat. "So…" he said and his voice seemed a bit higher than usual, "you think this is serious?"

Don bit his lip and forced himself to re-direct his thoughts to the problem at hand. "I don't know, buddy," he then said, shaking his head. "I only know that if it is a joke, it's a pretty bad one, and no matter whether whoever wrote this is serious or not, you should definitely _take_ it seriously." He thought for a second. "Let me show these to Megan," he then said. "She'll be a better judge of how serious this girl is. In any case I'm going to take them with me, see if forensics can pull some prints from them."

Charlie swallowed. "Don't you think that's overdoing it a bit? I haven't even gone to the police yet."

Don shrugged. "You've come to me, haven't you?"

Charlie grimaced. "Yeah. I went to the FBI because I got some letters, thanks for reminding me of that."

"Look, Charlie, it's not a big deal. I'll just ask Megan for her opinion, and forensics won't mind the little extra work either, because believe it or not, you've made yourself some friends there." He could see that his little brother still wasn't looking all that happy. He could empathize with that. Despite their relatively harmless tone, those letters left him with an uneasy feeling. "Look, let's just check these out so we can see where we stand, okay?"

His brother nodded, looking a bit defeated, and Don hesitated to go on. He didn't want to scare him for no reason, but he sure as hell wasn't going to take any risks either. "Listen, Charlie… I think it would be better for you not to go anywhere alone today. Best thing would probably be if I took you home or you came with me –"

Charlie had started shaking his head and interrupted him, "I can't do that, I have lectures to give. And I've got office hours –"

"Yeah, that's what I thought. You'd better take some extra precautions today, though. Don't go to any secluded spots while you're on campus and make sure to leave your door open every time you're alone with someone in your office. And most importantly, don't leave on your own. I'm gonna pick you up after work, okay?"

Charlie gave a little laugh, but it didn't sound happy. "That's basically what I told Amita earlier. I promised her to pick her up. She doesn't need to give lectures today, but she wanted to get some stuff done before she has to leave for a conference in San Diego."

Don thought for a moment. "It would be better if she didn't come here today," he said. "This is where the writer leaves his letters, so it seems to be his center. Going on that conference might actually be a good idea, it would get her out of the picture for some days until we know more about this. Make sure you always know where she goes though, and check in with her frequently. She should also look for any signs that someone might be watching her, although the writer seems more focused on you than on her. I'm gonna ask Megan for her input on that too though."

His brother ran his hands over his face. "Don't you think we're overreacting just a little?" he asked and Don couldn't miss the hint of desperation in his voice.

He shrugged. "Better safe than sorry, right?"

Charlie grimaced. "Right."

* * *

Phoebe had to check herself closely not to sigh with relief. So he _was_ coming. This morning, she'd awaited his arrival nervously and had become more and more anxious the more time had passed without him showing up. It was now past eleven in the morning, way past his usual time, and she wondered what might have caused that. Had something come up? She knew he was working with law enforcement sometimes, maybe he'd been out on a crime scene. The thought of that was far more agreeable (and far sexier) than the other option: maybe he'd done that on purpose? Maybe he'd wanted her to wait for him, maybe he was trying to hurt her?

Well, she'd find out soon, because he wasn't carrying his usual laptop bag, which meant that he must have been in his office already, which meant that he'd found her letter by now. So now he just _had_ to come out and show his feelings for her, right? She'd been so patient and understanding, she'd been everything he could possibly want in a woman. And she'd made it abundantly clear that she wouldn't wait much longer, so he had to give her some sort of sign today.

She almost growled when the line came to him. He wasn't even looking at her.

"Hey, Charlie," she said and tried not to let her irritation show.

"Hey," he answered. Now he didn't even say her name anymore, all he said was, "One coffee with milk, please."

Tears of anger sprang to Phoebe's eyes and she quickly turned around to make him that damn coffee. So he _was_ doing this on purpose! He was trying to hurt her, that jerk!

She set her jaw and was filled with sudden determination. Not with her. She wasn't going to let him treat her like that. If war was what he wanted, then war was what he would get. The prospect of revenge made the smile come back on her face, and much calmer now, she turned back around to face him.

"Here you go," she said sweetly and waited until his fingers touched the cup. Then, right before he could get a real grip of it, she let go, giving the cup a notch in the right direction so that it spilled all over his shirt.

"Damn!" he shouted and jumped a step back. He hissed and was holding his shirt a bit away from his body, but the damage was done.

Now that she had actually done it, Phoebe was a little shocked to see the consequences of her revenge. Charlie was grimacing, he looked like he was in pain, and only now did she start to think about what she had done. She'd thought it would hurt, yes, and she'd thought he would deserve that, but maybe the coffee had been hot enough to cause serious burns? Burns that would leave scars behind?

"I'm so sorry!" she shrieked and hurried around the counter to help him. Luckily it was close to noon and since they didn't just serve coffee, but also sandwiches and pastries, they were always two behind the counter at this time of day. With a slightly disapproving look, Phoebe's colleague Jenny took over her customers and so Phoebe had time to tend to Charlie.

"I'm so, so sorry," she repeated and found that she was. Now that she could see the lines of pain on his face, she'd lost almost all her anger and just wanted to make it all better again. She took some paper napkins from the counter and started drying his shirt off.

"It's okay," he said, his voice still a bit strained, "it was my fault, I wasn't paying attention."

Phoebe had to suppress a smile, it was just so nice having him talk to her like that, so gently, even though she'd just caused him pain.

"Let me dry this off for you," she said almost in a whisper to hide the tremble that had entered her voice. She had opened his shirt a little and was now gently dabbing the liquid off his chest. As casually as she could, she laid her left hand on that chest while her right hand was doing all the work. It felt like pure heaven.

"Thanks," he said after much too little time and was trying to get the napkins out of her hands. She cherished the touch of his hands on hers as she gave them up. "I think I can handle that on my own now. Sorry for the mess," he said, looking down at the spilt coffee on the floor. "Do you maybe have some cloth so I could wipe it up?"

"Don't worry about that," she said, smiling at him. He was just too sweet to be true. "I'll take care of it."

"Sorry," he repeated, "I was a little too preoccupied with my thoughts apparently."

"Never mind," she smiled before she let the concern show in her eyes. "Are you okay though? I could look if we have some ointment or something for your chest."

"No, thanks," he waved her off, "I'll be fine, it's nothing serious."

She could see that his facial muscles were still tense, so he still had to feel at least a little pain. "Are you sure?" she asked.

He smiled. He was so brave. "I'm sure, thanks; I'd just really like to get this off now. And sorry again about that." He gave her one last smile and then left.

"So, are you gonna clean this up now or what?"

Phoebe sighed. Jenny was anything but a romantic and she would never understand that she and Charlie had a special connection, one that he'd just affirmed once more. And after what had just happened, she knew exactly how to proceed in their relationship.

* * *

Don knocked at the open office door and watched his little brother flinch violently.

"Don't worry, it's just me," he said quietly.

"Yeah, hey," Charlie said and stood from his chair. He seemed a little rattled, but then, that hardly came as a surprise. "Let me just bring those papers in order, then we can go."

Don raised an eye-brow, thinking that bringing the papers on Charlie's desk in order would be the task of a century, but the gesture went completely unnoticed by his brother.

"How's Amita holding up?" he asked, hoping that talking about her might calm Charlie down a bit.

"She's fine. I mean, worried, of course, but she's pretty sure no one's been following her. She just left for San Diego and she's going to call me as soon as she arrives."

"Good," Don said and thought, _One less thing to worry about._

"So, did you find anything?" The hopeful look in his eyes hit Don hard, especially since he knew that he was about to destroy that hope.

"Not much, I'm afraid. Forensics could indeed lift some prints from the letters, but we couldn't find them in our databases. But since we also checked with the Commission on Teacher Credentialing, that means she's not a colleague of yours."

"Which only leaves the rest of the population," Charlie said bitterly, but Don decided to ignore the comment. Trying to build Charlie up right before inflicting the next blow on him seemed somehow senseless.

"I asked Megan for her opinion," he said and sighed, "and she's quite worried about the tone. She says that the writer is most probably an intimacy seeker." He saw his little brother close his eyes and guessed that Charlie had seen enough statistics to know that that type didn't refrain from violent acts once they realized that they couldn't get the intimacy they sought.

"Look, Charlie, we're gonna sort –"

"Yeah, we're gonna sort this out," Charlie interrupted him, but sounded neither happy nor hopeful. "I may not be an agent, Don, but I've been around enough cases to know that it's not that easy to apprehend a stalker, and that solving a case like that isn't exactly a top priority, at least not until the stalker lashes out violently."

Don was about to say something to cheer him up a bit, to point out to him that his chances that his case would be dealt with by the authorities weren't as bad as those of the average person, but he was distracted by the stained shirt that Charlie was stuffing in his laptop bag right now.

"What happened there?"

Charlie sighed. "Stupidity. I poured out my coffee over it."

Don was frowning now. "How exactly did that happen?"

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Relax, Don, there was no strange woman that appeared out of nowhere and bumped into me, I was simply too stupid to take the cup when the barista handed it to me. I was distracted, I wasn't paying attention. I'm not exactly having a great day, you know."

Don gave him a commiserating smile. "You got burnt?"

"The campus medic gave me some ointment, it's okay now."

"Well, at least it finally pays off that you practically live in your office. Found a shirt to change into, found some ointment…"

"Found some letters," Charlie added, not very helpfully. Don winced at the bitter tone and was at a loss how to make things better when Charlie sighed and went on, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you a victim of my bad mood. Let's just go home, okay?"

"Sure thing, Professor. Your taxi's already waiting for you."

* * *

Don accompanied him to his office the next morning and Charlie refrained from asking him how long they were going to keep this up. He was well aware that the two most likely scenarios were either one, they would continue doing this until they were reasonably certain that the stalker had lost interest (not a very plausible scenario, if you believed Megan), or two, they would just wait until the stalker would reveal herself. Since the latter would likely occur in a violent manner, Charlie wasn't particularly happy with either of those possibilities.

There was no letter in his office today and Don said it was a good thing, but Charlie didn't know how to feel about that. At least when he got a letter, he had some idea what that stalker was thinking or planning to do. With no letter, he felt a little lost and more than a little insecure, and he found himself wishing that the day would just end as quickly and uneventful as possible. When he'd taken his leave, Don had been insistent that he should call him immediately as soon as he noticed anything out of the ordinary, and his worry wasn't something that made him feel a whole lot better or more at ease.

After his first lecture of the day, he got himself a badly needed coffee. He'd hardly slept last night, even though he'd been relieved that Amita had arrived in San Diego safely and would be out of the stalker's way for the next three days. Still, sleep had eluded him and he was feeling a little lousy today. He was also well aware that this hadn't been one of his better lectures and he felt anger arise inside him. Couldn't that stalker just stop this stupid game of hide and seek? If she was trying to get intimate with him, then why torture him like that? Didn't she realize what she was doing to him by all that secrecy? Just because of three stupid letters, he was constantly agitated, had trouble sleeping, had to fight hard to get over his foul mood and had completely lost his appetite. Not even his coffee was to his taste today. Well, he could at least use the caffeine.

He emanated a growling sigh, but then decided that he wouldn't lose himself in self-pity. That stalker could do what she wanted, he would just ignore her for now and occupy his thoughts with more pleasant things, like for instance with the question whether he couldn't transform the equations he was working on in a way that would allow him to apply the Riemann zeta function.

He'd been working only for a couple of minutes when he noticed that something wasn't right. He was starting to feel a little sick and his stomach felt unpleasantly hard as if it was in a knot. Was that just the stress, the anxiety? But he'd just started to work, which had actually calmed him down a bit. It didn't make sense.

It was something out of the ordinary.

Charlie's finger was hovering over the call button. He had the distinct feeling he was overreacting, but he also had the firm suspicion that Don would be biting his head off if this became worse and he hadn't notified him sooner. So he emanated a deep sigh and bit the bullet.

"Charlie, what's wrong?"

Charlie suppressed another sigh as he couldn't help but notice the worried, almost panicked tone in Don's voice. "I'm fine, everything's alright," he said and felt tired just because he was obliged to state that. "It's just that you told me to call you if there was anything out of the ordinary and… well, it's probably just the anxiety, but just now I started feeling a little sick." Now that the words were out, he felt even more stupid than before. He felt a bit like those helicopter parents writing down their toddler's every little sniff and burp. Or like the toddler. Only that Charlie wasn't a toddler anymore.

"What did you eat or drink?"

"Just some coffee." He could hear that Don was about to say something, so he cut him short, "Which I bought where I've been buying it for several years now, and no, I didn't leave it unattended."

"You're in your office now? What about the air? Any unusual smell?"

Feeling utterly stupid, Charlie sniffed a bit. "No, seems normal to me. Look, Don, it really is probably nothing, and it's not that bad either, I just thought I let you know because you asked me to."

"Okay, Charlie, stay in your office and open your windows, just to be sure. I'll be there in a couple of minutes."

Charlie wasn't sure if he had heard right. "What?" That was something he hadn't anticipated. "Don, come on, that's really not necessary. I'm just feeling a little sick, it's probably just a little anxiety because of those stupid letters, that's all."

"We were thinking about asking you to consult on something for us anyway, so just stay put until I'm there, okay?"

Charlie looked heavenwards, then closed his eyes, wondering if Don was telling the truth or if that consulting gig was just a pretext. But then, it wasn't like there was anything he could do to stop his big brother from overreacting. "Alright," he gave in with a sigh and disconnected the call.

He went to the windows and took in the flowery air from outside, waiting for the sick feeling to recede. It didn't. It had actually increased during his phone call, but then Charlie had thought that was just because he was talking about it and therefore paying attention to the sensation. He tried thinking about something else, but the nausea was still increasing and he started feeling quite uncomfortable, like he was about to vomit. Also, the hardness in his stomach was starting to hurt.

He was just about to go to the men's room to avoid making a mess if he did indeed have to vomit, when there was a knock on his door. Before he could say anything, it was opened and a girl stepped in. She had to be in her mid twenties and Charlie was sure he knew her from somewhere. She had to be a student of his, but he couldn't quite place her. She certainly wasn't in one of his more advanced classes. Maybe his Math 101 class? There were so many students there that he couldn't possibly know them all.

"Leave the door open, please," he said as she closed it, remembering Don's orders.

She didn't and Charlie raised his eye-brows, but then thought that maybe she wanted to talk to him about something delicate. He just hoped that whatever it was, they could get it done quickly, because he felt worse by the minute.

"What can I do for you?" he asked as politely as he could, trying to ignore the pain in his stomach. It was starting to cramp up and Charlie had to lower himself into the chair behind his desk.

She smiled. It was an odd smile. Charlie couldn't really describe it, he only knew that it was giving him the creeps.

"Come on, Charlie," she said and heat shot into his head. He didn't like that tone any more than that smile. And why was she using his first name? "There is really no reason to keep up that charade in here, don't you think?"

For a moment, Charlie couldn't breathe, and he wasn't sure whether it was because of whatever was happening to his stomach or because realization was dawning on him. _Just stop this charade_ , the words shot through his head as he remembered the second letter. She'd used his first name, she was acting as though he was supposed to know what was going on, she was trying to establish an inappropriate level of intimacy. There was no doubt in his mind, it was her.

He was just about to say something as his stomach cramped up more vehemently than before and he doubled over in pain. The nausea was getting worse, too, and he had to swallow hard to avoid losing his stomach content.

"Oh, my poor baby!" he heard her say and it made icy shudders run down his spine. He could feel her hand on his shoulder and he felt as though his skin was about to crawl. "Come here, I'm going to stay with you until you're better."

She had dug one of her hands in his curls and was trying to get the other one under his shirt to touch his chest. He tried to duck away, but the pain and the nausea seemed to effectively paralyze him, so he was restricted to the use of only one hand in his attempt to fight her off while the other one was busy with holding his stomach.

"Stop it," he grunted with pain and held back the hand that was trying to explore his chest.

Indeed, she stopped. She actually stepped back. "What is it? Are you feeling okay?"

"Of course I'm not feeling okay!" it burst out of him. "What is this? What did you do to me?"

Another cramp hit him and he doubled over again. Just as he was bending his head, he caught sight of the coffee cup on his desk. Damn. The coffee. Now he remembered where he knew that girl from. Phoebe. Phoebe from the coffee shop. He frowned, both with pain and because he didn't understand. She'd always been so nice to him, just yesterday when he'd spilt his coffee, she –

Damn. He was just so stupid.

"Phoebe," he said flatly, "did you put something in my coffee?"

When she was silent, he forced himself to look up at her and was struck with the tears in her eyes. "I'm only here to help you," she said and he could hear the tears in her voice as well. "I wanted to take care of you."

Charlie pressed his lips together to hold back a sharp reply. Instead he said, "That's nice of you. Really. And I think… I think I could use some water. Could you go fetch me some?" _Just go,_ he silently pleaded, _get away from me so I can get real help._

"Relax," she said. She still had tears in her eyes, but she was smiling now. It was eerie. "Nothing's going to happen to you. I'll take care of that."

Charlie thought he was going to cry. Couldn't she just go away and leave him alone? "I'd really like some water," he said and didn't have to act to get the pleading tone into his voice.

"Don't worry, you'll be fine. I'm going to take care of you," she said and cupped his cheek with her hand. He suppressed the urge to push her away. He wasn't in a state to put up a real fight and he was afraid of what else she might have up her sleeve. He wouldn't be surprised if she would suddenly pull out a gun from somewhere, so he thought it would be wiser to give into her fantasy and wait until help arrived. It couldn't come too soon.

"You're really good at making me feel better," he said and did his best to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "I'm glad you're here to take care of me. I just don't understand what's wrong with me."

He forced himself to look into her eyes, but this time, it was her who averted them.

"You did put something in my coffee, didn't you?" She didn't react, so he went on, "It's okay, I'm not mad at you. I'm glad that you thought of that so we could have some time for us." His nausea increased further when he heard his own words.

But they made her head come up. "You are?" she asked and the joy he could hear in her voice was as eerie as her smile.

He just nodded, waiting for his voice to start working again. He cleared his throat, but it was still a bit raspy when he said, "I'm just worried what it was, you know, I might be allergic to it or something."

Her smile grew. "Relax," she said, "it was just fertilizer."

He was almost glad that another wave of pain made him double over, because he was sure he couldn't have contained himself otherwise. What was that crazy person thinking, giving him fertilizer?! And why the hell did she keep insisting that he would be fine if she didn't make any effort to get him help?

She was kneeling in front of him now. "I'm just so glad we can finally be together!" she said and put her hands on his knees. "Now you only have to end things with that other woman, and then everything will be alright."

He felt like he was going to explode any moment now – not just with vomit. He wasn't sure how much longer he would be able to contain his anger, but he was certain that it wouldn't be long now.

When he heard the knock on the door, he felt like crying with relief, but he didn't even have time for that because the door was jerked open immediately and then he heard the voice of his big brother, the knight in shining armor. "Charlie –"

When he saw the strange scene before him, it didn't take him even a full second to reach for his gun. "FBI, freeze!" he shouted, much louder than it would have been necessary in the small office. "Step away from him, now!"

Charlie could see shock on Phoebe's face, but he couldn't bring himself to feel pity for her. "Charlie, what –"

"Just do as he says," he interrupted her and bent his head back down as another wave of pain hit him. He was impatient to end this, but he also preferred things not to escalate now. "We'll be able to clear this up quickly, but don't give him a reason to hurt you."

He could more feel than see her nod, the pain kept increasing and by now he was keeping his eyes tightly closed. He emanated a shaky sigh of relief as he heard Don's handcuffs click a few seconds later.

"Buddy, what's wrong? What did she do to you?"

He could feel Don's arm around his back and also his fear and worry seemed almost palpable. "Fertilizer. In the coffee," he said between gasps, his voice still strained.

" _What?!_ "

"You should get him some water, to dilute it," he heard Megan's tense voice. He hadn't even known she was here. "I'm going to call for an ambulance."

"But… he's going to be alright, isn't he?"

Charlie _really_ thought he was going to vomit as he heard that sweet, innocent tone coming out of that monster.

He could hear a healthy amount of sarcasm in Megan's voice as she answered, "I'm sure he will be, as long as we make sure that _you_ don't get anywhere near him again."

* * *

Charlie sighed deeply when he let himself sink onto the couch in his living-room, leaned back and closed his eyes. He was exhausted. So much for his wish that this day would go over quickly and uneventful. It was evening now and they'd just returned from the hospital. He was still feeling a little queasy, but it was nowhere near as bad as in his office this afternoon.

"Oh, good L-rd, are you alright, son?" He could hear his dad come hurrying towards them from the kitchen. They'd called him from the hospital and managed not to make him come by making it clear to him that Charlie wouldn't need to stay there. They'd pumped out his stomach and checked for organ damage, but couldn't find anything that would have made an overnight stay necessary, and Charlie was immensely glad he was able to go home. He was longing for a good night's sleep.

"I'm fine," he said, but it sounded a bit hollow since his head was on the backrest of the couch.

"I'm going to make you some tea," his father said. Charlie was about to tell him that it wasn't necessary, but felt that it was too much effort. Besides, now that he thought about it, a cup of tea didn't sound all that bad. In any event better than a cup of coffee.

"You okay there?" he could hear his brother's quiet voice.

He gave him a slight nod. "Yeah." He could sense that Don was still standing there, hovering over him, and he forced himself to open his eyes to look at him. "You can relax now," he told him. "You heard the doctor, that stuff is practically out of my system."

Don nodded and finally let himself sink into an armchair with a deep sigh as well. He was staring into nothing and slowly shook his head. "That was one crazy girl."

Charlie snorted. "Amen to that." He paused. "What's going to happen to her now?"

Don shrugged. "She'll be prosecuted for assault," he said. "That'll probably put her away for some time, but even if it doesn't, you'll have no trouble getting a restraining order against her now."

"You're really starting to make it a habit to point out silver linings, you know that?" Charlie said. However, truth be spoken, he too was glad that the time of insecurity was finally over, and he also realized that he'd gotten off pretty lightly with the fertilizer. She could have thought of much worse things to do to him.

"Yeah, you think?" Don said and Charlie waited. The glint in his brother's eyes told him that he wasn't done teasing yet, and he wasn't mistaken. "So let me add another silver lining: it's finally official now."

Charlie gave him a frown. "What is?"

"That Dad and I got our own little star. I mean, anyone can publish a book nowadays, but you aren't a celebrity in L.A. until you got your own personal stalker. So congratulations, bro – you've made it."

\- finis -


	7. GSW

**Disclaimer:** Numb3rs and its characters still don't belong to me. Would be a nice Christmas present, though.  
 **Rating:** T  
 **Timeline:** end of season 3  
 **Tag to:** 2-22 Backscatter (it should be possible to understand this story without having seen the episode; still, just watch it, it's one of the best)  
 **A/N:** H is practically done already and will probably be posted sometime during the Christmas holidays, but if you have any ideas for I, just let me know. In the meanwhile, please enjoy :)

* * *

 **GSW**

For a moment, Charlie just stared into the other man's eyes. Then he turned his head around and looked out of the window onto the people-filled campus, thinking hard.

"You're sure about that?" he finally asked. His voice was quiet, but if you knew him well enough, you couldn't miss the trembling tone.

Lieutenant Gary Walker didn't miss it. "I'm sure," he said with his firm voice that didn't allow any doubt.

Charlie sighed. "And you think this will stop him?"

"Listen, Professor," Walker said, but at the look the mathematician gave him, he corrected himself, "Charlie. I admit that I wasn't a believer of the first hour, but after everything I've seen since then, I think your math-magic may be exactly what we need."

Charlie was silent for a minute, too occupied with his thoughts to even make a comment about the 'math-magic'. "He's behind bars," he then said in an attempt to contradict Gary's earlier words. "How much damage can he do from inside a prison cell?"

"More than you can imagine. You were around when he got arrested, you know what Koverchenko is capable of."

Charlie snorted. "And then why exactly did we go to the trouble of arresting him in the first place?"

Gary stepped closer and leaned on Charlie's desk. "Listen, Charlie, as I said he's not back to his old power yet. But everything points to it that he's trying everything he can to get there. Once he manages that, it will indeed have been in vain to have arrested him. And there's no doubt in my mind that the first thing he'll want to do once he's back in power will be taking revenge on the ones who made him lose it."

"So it's really a lose-lose-situation for me, isn't it?" Charlie said with uncharacteristic bitterness. "Either I do nothing and Koverchenko reassembles his mobsters and lashes out at Don again." Charlie set his jaw at those words. The memory of that more than scary case approximately a year earlier was still vivid on his mind. Don had crossed paths with the Russian Mob and in turn, they had targeted him personally – him and his family. They had managed to destroy the Mob's network though and had put the big boss, Yuri Koverchenko, behind bars. Now, however, he seemed to be trying to form another network similar to his first one, and if he managed to do that, there was hardly any doubt that Don would be on top of his list of victims. So that scenario wasn't an option.

"Or," Charlie continued, "I accept the job and try helping you to nip Koverchenko's new network in the bud, in which case he'll try to lash out at _me_ , either directly or by targeting anyone I care about, as is his MO." And that certainly wasn't an option either.

Gary shook his head. "Technically, you're right, but the thing is, Koverchenko hasn't reassembled his network, or _a_ network, yet. He doesn't have the resources he had then, so he's not as dangerous. Yet. That's why we have to act now, before it's too late."

Now it was Charlie's turn to shake his head. "Look, I'm sorry, but I can't endanger my family like that, and I know you can't guarantee their safety."

Gary gave a joyless laugh. "You sound just like that brother of yours. Don't you see? You're already on his list, all of you – Don, yourself, and, by extension, anyone who's connected to either of you. You can't stop someone like Koverchenko by trying to hide from him, you have to fight him if you want to make sure that he stays where he is."

"Maybe he's already forgotten about us?" Charlie said, but there was a desperate tone in his voice that revealed that he didn't really nurture any hope that it was the truth. "Maybe I'll antagonize him even more by helping you out?"

Gary's stern look told him only too well that such a thing as 'antagonizing him even more' wasn't possible at this point. At that look, Charlie's last reservations crumbled and he sighed deeply. "Oh man. I'm dead if Don ever finds out about this."

Gary's answer came with characteristic sobriety. "If your brother is your biggest problem when fighting the Russian Mob, I think we'll be fine."

* * *

A few days later, Charlie, standing at the chalkboards in his office, was slowly twisting a piece of chalk in his hand, nodding his head in the same rhythm. Yes… this made sense. It was all fitting together nicely.

He inhaled deeply and when he exhaled, a grin slowly spread across his face. His network analysis was done. Now, they knew how their players were connected and how each of them was connected to Koverchenko. They knew their hierarchy and thus the LAPD would now be able to figure out which ones to arrest when so that they could take down the whole network. And then, Koverchenko would be out of business. Again. For good, this time.

He called Gary and let him know he was done and that he would come over to the LAPD and present his findings. A look at his watch told him that if the presentation didn't take too long, he would probably arrive home just in time to get ready and enjoy the evening – without having to worry about a mafia network that would soon be out of business. Now that he was done with the analysis, the upcoming party tonight seemed so much more pleasant and agreeable than it had before, when it had meant only an extra load of stress for him. He'd even tried to think of ways of getting out of it somehow, knowing fully well that he couldn't. It was his father's birthday, after all. Now, however, he was even looking forward to helping on the preparations.

The LAPD officers seemed pleased with his results and in the ensuing hustle, Charlie's leaving was hardly noticed. He usually found this the hardest part, letting go of the problem and lay everything in the hands of the respective law enforcement officers, just waiting how things were going to work out and trusting that he hadn't made a mistake. This time, however, he was glad that he could just sneak away and forget about this whole affair for a while. They wouldn't need his help while they were planning the coordinated arrest of the mobsters, even though Gary had asked him to be there when it would go down, to be at hand in case that the need of calculating escape routes arose. That, however, wasn't going to happen tonight. Tonight was his mobster-free day off.

The traffic on this Saturday afternoon was, as usual, hellish, but even accounting for that, Charlie was still on his schedule when he left the LAPD. There was still time to do a little shopping for the salad he'd promised his father he'd make, to actually make the salad, tidy up a bit, set the table and take a shower before the guests would arrive. Luckily it would just be a couple of close friends, something like their dad's extended family (not counting the real, blood-related family members, who all lived some distance away). The team was going to be there and Larry and Amita and, of course, Millie. A nice group of people Charlie normally felt completely at ease around and now that he had completed his work should have been able to feel at ease around tonight as well – if only it hadn't been for that stupid secrecy. He knew they wouldn't be pleased with his involvement in this case and thus he hadn't told anyone about it, and he was sick of playing this game of hide and seek – literally sick, because he was anxious that Don might find out. For in that case, Charlie knew that his days would be numbered. If Don found out he was going against the Russian Mob after everything that had happened last time, he would go berserk. The only ray of hope Charlie still had was that his death would be a quick one now that he'd enraged Don further by keeping it a secret from him.

He sighed and tried to adopt a more optimistic point of view. With the network completed, they had had a breakthrough today, so it was only a couple of more days that he had to keep his consultation work for the LAPD a secret. Surely he could manage that.

Just when he had successfully calmed himself down, he heard an engine rev behind him. Not for long, though. Soon, it was next to him, it was passing him, although Charlie was driving at the speed limit. The guy – or rather the _guys_ , as a quick side-glance revealed – weren't even that much faster than him, it was a dangerously slow passing process. Alright, there was no oncoming traffic right now, but that could change with any second, for the road didn't allow looking very far ahead at this stretch.

"Jerks," Charlie muttered to himself as they slowly came closer to their new spot ahead of his car. He only gave them brief glances, considering it wiser to focus on the traffic, especially now when such idiots were around. He could only see that the car was filled with people, at least three of them, maybe four, all of them young men apparently. _Figures_ , he thought, remembering the statistics of accidents caused by reckless driving that he'd come across during his consulting work.

Since he'd decelerated a little to let them pass faster, they were now in front of him and just to be sure, he let himself fall back a little further. Then he frowned when he realized the car in front of him was getting slower as well and the distance between them wasn't increasing.

Just as he was wondering what he should do now, increase his speed again or continue decreasing it, all his thoughts were suddenly gone and for a second, he felt like his heart had stopped beating. A small black object had appeared on the outside of the left-hand back-seat, and it was pointed directly at him.

A gun.

The second Charlie's mind made that realization, his body acted and ducked sideways over the gearshift. Only then did it occur to him that he couldn't see anything this way. He floored the brakes, but he didn't even consider getting back up to look where he was going because just then, hell erupted.

It was so loud that at first, he couldn't distinguish any of the noises. Then, he heard the bangs of the shots and the shattering of glass. His windshield. They were shooting at his windshield. There had to be at least two shooters; the succession of the shots was just too quick for one, but not quick enough for an automatic weapon. He became even smaller behind the steering wheel when he realized that their bullets were whizzing past him, closely, before they got stuck in the seat cushions. It occurred to him that this was what combat had to be like.

It felt as though several minutes had passed already, but he knew there could have hardly elapsed more than a few seconds since the first shot had rung out. After all, he was still on the road despite not seeing a thing. The only question was how much longer that might hold.

The thought had just occurred to him when all his thinking was turned off cold as a hot iron was immersed in his left side. At least that was what it felt like. He could hear himself scream and for a moment, that even drowned the gunshots, a welcome relief if he'd only been able to cherish it. He was far from being able to do that though, for the whole left side of his torso was on fire, it was burning up and it seemed as though the heat would consume his entire body, spreading from the wound.

The gunshot wound.

 _I'm hit_ , the thought shot through his mind. _They hit me!_

His throat was tight and his stomach felt as though it suddenly held a beehive.

They'd hit him.

How bad was it?

Was he going to die?

Tears were welling in his eyes, tears of pain and fear, but at that moment he was hit again, not as badly as the first time. It hurt, but it wasn't an all-consuming fire, more like a hot knife slicing through his arm.

His arm. The bullet had hit his arm. Or maybe grazed it. That wasn't life-threatening. Besides, it offered him a second sensation, not a pleasant one, true, but it still gave him some orientation.

His shoulder. He could feel it now, it was still burning, but the wound that first hit had torn open now stopped feeling as if the bullet had ripped half of his body away, it was more localized now, more controllable. His shoulder. Not directly life-threatening either.

He'd hardly entertained that thought when his world started dipping. He could still hear the gunshots – had the frequency decreased? – but something had changed. A split second later, it became clear what it was. He was leaving the road. And since his car hadn't had more than a handful of seconds to slow down, he was still going too fast not to be worried about that. With no feeling in the left side of his body, he clenched the gearshift tightly with his right hand and tried to curl himself up as his car tumbled into the ditch beside the road.

* * *

Don had just answered the door and let Millie in when he felt his cell buzzing. Before he excused himself and took the call, he had time to wonder how Millie always managed to arrive late. Colby, too, wasn't known for his punctuality, but he was already there, along with the rest of the team, Amita and Larry. Millie was the last one to arrive of the little group that had gathered here tonight, even though, as Don realized now, she had the shortest way of them all. Then however, when he saw the caller ID on his cell, he realized that his assessment wasn't quite true. There was one more person missing, one who had an even shorter way.

"Charlie, what the hell? Where are you?" Since because of Charlie's unexpected absence they had been compelled to prepare everything in a frenzy, Don was currently a little out of sorts with his little brother. It hadn't helped his mood that Charlie had ditched all of their calls.

"Yeah, sorry, I know I'm late," he heard Charlie's voice, "but I'm having car trouble."

Don rolled his eyes. "You got such a perfect timing, Chuck…" He sighed impatiently. "How much longer is that gonna take you?"

"I don't know, maybe an hour, but could be longer."

Don was frowning now. "An hour? Charlie, you do realize you should have been here long ago, don't you? Where the hell are you, in the desert?"

"I'm…" his brother said and was obviously trying to find an answer to that question. In the meanwhile, Don listened to the background noises and his frown deepened. Charlie was definitely not in the desert. But it didn't sound like he was on the road either. Or at the car shop.

"Charlie, where are you?" At that, he could hear a muffled loudspeaker announcement in the background and now, it occurred to him what those noises reminded him of. Accordingly, his next words were uttered with a certain sharpness, not fueled by irritation anymore, but by fear. "Are you at the hospital?!"

"Shh!" his brother hissed. "Not so loud. Look, it's nothing, I just had a little accident and I don't want Dad to worry about it, okay? So… keep this to yourself for now, alright?"

"What kind of accident?" Don asked, but was indeed keeping his voice down now. Since the guests were all in the other room though, there wasn't much risk that anyone would hear him, not with the noise they made.

"Well, a car accident. I told you I had car trouble."

"You were in a car accident?" Don managed to say and tried to understand those words. Unfortunately, with understanding came pretty vivid images. "Are you hurt?"

There was some hesitation at the other end that did nothing to alleviate Don's anxiety. "No," Charlie then said and Don let his breath escape. "Not badly, just some cuts and bruises. They want to check me out more thoroughly though, so it might take a little while."

Don sighed and ran his free hand over his face. At least Charlie wasn't hurt, but his timing still sucked. Right when they were about to start their dad's birthday dinner, just perfect. No use crying over spilt milk, though. "Alright, are you at Huntington? I can probably be there in twenty minutes or so."

"What? No, that's not why I called. I just wanted to let you know I'd be late. You don't need to pick me up." Before Don could argue, Charlie went on, "Listen, I gotta go now, just give Dad my best and tell him I'll be there as soon as I can, alright? Thanks."

Before Don could say anything, Charlie had hung up on him.

* * *

Charlie had just paid the taxi driver and fought hard to suppress the urge to turn around towards the detectives sitting in their non-descript car down the street. After today's events, Gary had assigned them to him for his safety. 'You know it's just for a couple of days,' he'd said, and even though Charlie knew he was right, he didn't like this one bit. It felt utterly wrong. He knew that now that they got the network on top of all the other data they had, it wouldn't take the LAPD long to prepare for a coordinated assault to take them all down, but still he would have preferred if everything was already over.

He approached the door slowly, for one thing because he didn't want to make a wrong movement and afflict further damage to himself, but also because he still wasn't entirely sure whether he was doing the right thing. On the other hand, he had to come home sometime, and even though he didn't want to dampen the mood tonight, he was also well aware that the presence of the guests would keep some of his dad's and Don's attention away from him and keep them from asking too many questions. Besides, even though they'd already had breakfast together this morning, he realized that it would still be better to show up at his dad's birthday like this than not showing up at all.

Charlie could hear their voices from the outside when he was standing at the door. Dinner had to be over, they had to have moved to the living room. No surprise there; it had been hours since he'd called Don. He took one last breath before he opened the door.

As he was opening it, he still couldn't be seen from the people inside, but Millie's loud and clear voice floated through the air towards him. "Alright," she was just saying, "I'll grant you that, but I think we can all agree that there's no 007 like Sean Connery, because – hey, is that Charlie?"

He was inside now and there was no possibility to hide. "Hey, everyone," he said and closed the door behind him as casually as he could. "Sorry I'm late."

When he turned back from the door and towards the room, he could see that they were all staring at him wide-eyed.

"Good gracious, Charlie, what happened?" His father was the first to speak but his words were slower than his body. He had already gotten up from his chair when Charlie hadn't even fully turned around to face them yet and was now standing before him, his hand hovering over the sling-bandage on his shoulder.

"It's nothing, Dad," Charlie said and gave him a hug to prove that to him. He had to clench his teeth, the contact wasn't all that agreeable with all the smaller and bigger injuries he had, but he tried not to let that show, knowing fully well that he was being watched by the others in the room. He released the hug and went on with his reassurances, "I just had a little accident, but it really looks much worse than it actually is. You know all those hospitals nowadays, they're so afraid to get sued they'll apply a pressure bandage if you've got so much as a paper cut."

"But what happened?"

Charlie shrugged one-sidedly, with his right and uninjured shoulder. "Someone bumped into me from the side. Look, it's nothing. I went to the hospital, they checked me out, they let me go, so I'm fine, alright? So you were talking James Bond movies or what?"

He'd been hoping to get the attention away from himself, to make them all forget about the state he was in and just continue the evening as if nothing had happened. However, he should have realized that this hope was utopian. His father was still frowning. "If you were at the hospital, then how did you get here? Why didn't you call us –"

"Dad, please!" Charlie interrupted him. "I took a cab, okay? Now can we stop talking about this?"

He could see several pairs of raised eye-brows, but apparently they were willing to do him that favor.

"Let's just get some food into you," his dad said eventually and was about to steer him into the kitchen, but Don was already on his way.

"I'm gonna help him with that," he decided and pulled Charlie with him with a firm grip on his uninjured arm. Charlie felt more like he was about to be slaughtered than to be fed.

Once they were in the kitchen, his premonition was confirmed.

"So tell me again how this qualifies as 'not hurt'?" Don said in a tone that left no question as to how pissed he was.

Charlie exhaled with a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a sigh and wordlessly took a plate from the cupboard. So much for Don helping him with this. He knew he shouldn't have lied to Don. He hadn't lied though, not really, he'd said that he hadn't been hurt that badly, but he'd admitted to having been hurt a little. Considering what could have happened, he was indeed relatively unharmed, he hadn't even lost that much blood since all his injuries were relatively superficial. He'd just left out the part with the gunshot wounds.

"Charlie –"

"I just didn't want you to worry unnecessarily, okay?" he said with some sharpness as he smacked a piece of meat on his plate.

Don was silent for a minute. "So what happened to your shoulder?" he then asked and somehow managed to sound both angry and commiserating.

"It's just a little cricked, that's all," Charlie said as he added some salad (very little salad, because he was only able to use one of the servers) and then quickly left the kitchen to escape from this interrogation. He couldn't look at his brother right now, for even though there may have been some truth involved in everything he'd said earlier, his last words were definitely a lie.

He didn't like this. He never lied. He sometimes didn't tell them certain things, but then it was usually because he couldn't, because what he was working on was confidential or classified. But in those instances, he usually could at least tell them that there _was_ something he was keeping from them, he didn't just pretend that everything was fine when he knew perfectly well that it wasn't.

He sighed. Only a couple more days. Then this would all be over.

He put a smile on his face and joined the others in the living room.

For the rest of the evening, Charlie was fighting hard both to stay awake and not to let the pain show on his face. He was exhausted. It had been a long day – and a slightly too eventful one at that. All he wanted to do was go to sleep. For a moment, he even regretted not having taken the doctor's advice and stayed at the hospital overnight, but that hadn't really been an option, not if he wanted to keep his family from asking too many questions.

Luckily, the guests didn't stay that much longer, only about an hour. David and Colby were the last to leave. The three Eppes men brought them to the door and had hardly closed it behind them when Charlie felt the exhaustion descend upon him more forcefully than during the entire evening. He just wanted to fall into his bed.

"Will you boys load the dishwasher while I put away the leftovers?"

Charlie sighed deeply. His bed had to wait. _Just stick it out for a couple more minutes_ , was what he told himself. "Sure, Dad," was what he told his father.

"Only if you feel up to it, Charlie," his father said sternly. "You're looking a little pale there."

Great. Now he had to fight for keeping himself from sleeping. "I'm fine," he just said and followed Don into the kitchen with some empty glasses.

"Right," both his father and his brother skeptically replied, and his dad added, "Now what about your shoulder? Looks quite serious with that sling."

"It's not," Charlie lied – again – and just wanted to get away as soon as possible, so when his cell phone rang, he wasn't sure whether that was real or just wishful thinking.

"Who's calling you so late?" his dad asked while Charlie was still staring a bit stupidly at the ringing device in his hand.

He shook his head. "I don't know," he said and even though his exhausted mind took ages to get to grips with this unexpected event, he still realized that he was relieved not to have to answer that with another lie. He really didn't know who was calling him, not even after looking at the caller ID, which just said 'unknown number'.

Still, when he noticed Don's watchful eyes upon him, he returned to the living room to answer the call. "Charlie Eppes."

"Listen carefully, Professor." The voice was deep and dark, with a Russian accent. "What happened today was just a friendly warning. Stay away from the police."

The call disconnected. Electronic beeps were sounding in Charlie's ear, but all he heard was that masculine voice with the Russian accent and the forceful beating of his own heart. Just a warning? What was that supposed to mean? They couldn't have known he would survive that, if he hadn't duck behind his steering wheel, the bullet might have just as well hit his heart. That had been far more than a warning, it had been an attempt to eliminate him from the equation, to get him out of the picture, and it had been an unscrupulous attempt because they'd allowed for the possibility of him dying in the process.

And they knew he was still alive.

"What was that?"

Charlie flinched violently when he heard Don's voice so close to him. "What?"

"Your phone conversation. If you can call it a conversation."

It took him a second to unwrap his thoughts from around the man's words and understand what Don was asking him. "Oh, that. Nothing. Wrong number," he said and turned away, his face hot, his mind empty.

 _Another lie_ , the thought shot through his head and he bit his lip. This case couldn't end soon enough.

* * *

The afternoon sun fell into the room through the blinds and decorated the floor of Liz's apartment with curious patterns. Not just the floor, but also the bed and Don's body. He was lying on his back, his hands clasped behind his head, and was staring at the ceiling. She watched him stare, watched the tiny movements of his eyes, the little twitches of his mouth, his nose, his eye-brows. She was lying next to him, on her side, her elbow propped on the mattress to support her head while her other hand slowly followed and played with the patterns on Don's bare chest.

"So what's with you today?" she asked quietly.

He tilted his head just slightly, just enough to look at her. "What do you mean?"

She smiled. Like Don Eppes would ever admit freely that there was something on his mind. "Come on, Don, just let it out. It's about Charlie, isn't it?"

The look he gave her made up for all the taciturnity she'd endured from him that day. "How do you know?"

Her smile grew wider. "It's obvious," she teased him. "You're not even half as hard to read as you like to think, Agent Eppes."

He was silent and went back to staring at the ceiling.

She grew more earnest again. "So what is it?"

He was silent for some time, but by now, she knew him well enough to know that she just had to be patient, that he just needed time to jump in at the deep end and open up to her.

"Something's wrong with him," he finally said, still staring at the ceiling. "I can't really put a name on it, but he's… different. I think he's hiding something from us."

"Have you tried talking to him about it?"

She could tell from the way his mouth twitched that he hadn't. Of course he hadn't. Why had she even bothered to ask.

"Because you think then he'd tell me?" he said with a tone that left no doubt as to what he thought about her idea.

She shrugged. "He might. What would you lose?"

He just snorted and fell silent again. She sighed and let herself fall on her back. Men. No, not just men, _Don_. Concerning lack of communication, to reach Don she'd have to multiply men by… well, she'd probably have to ask Charlie about that. Probably would tell her that multiplication wasn't enough, that she needed exponentiation.

The thought of his eager math explanations brought back the memory from the previous night, when he'd showed up at Alan's birthday dinner. Well, _after_ dinner. She too had thought that he'd been a little off, but had decided to cut him some slack. He _had_ just been in an accident, and whatever he might have told them about being fine, he'd still looked as though he'd been in pain.

"Is it about his accident?" she asked.

There was some hesitation from next to her, but eventually Don said, "Among other things." More silence. Her patience was rewarded though. "I just had the impression he wasn't telling us the truth about what happened."

"Well, that should be fairly easy to determine, right? You could just check the accident report when you get to work tomorrow."

That finally made him turn his head around so that he fully faced her now. He studied her carefully; his eye-brows were drawn together, but the look in his eyes held a certain insecurity, mingled with hope. "I can do that, right? It's not… unethical or anything?"

She snorted. "Well, it _would_ be better if you just asked him, but since we both know that's not going to happen and we also both know that you won't stop brooding until you know what to do about this, then yeah, I think it would be the best way to proceed."

That finally got her a smile. "You're a mean little pragmatist, you know that?" he said as he rolled on top of her.

She continued the rolling movement until she ended up on top. She smiled wickedly. "And don't you forget it."

* * *

Even though Don had spent some time and energy on convincing himself that there was nothing wrong with doing this, he still looked around furtively when he sat down at his desk and started his computer. He'd come here a little earlier than usual and at this time of the morning, there was hardly anyone here. All the better.

It didn't take him long to find the LAPD's report and after one more glance around to make sure nobody was watching him, he opened it.

He was immediately filled with nausea and had to swallow hard to make it subside a bit. The first thing his eyes had landed upon was a photograph of Charlie's car, or rather what remained of it. It was taken from the driver's side and it made it easy to see that the car was badly dented, all the windows were cracked or broken and it was lying lopsidedly in the ditch beside the road.

Don closed his eyes, but he still saw that image. "Geez, Charlie…" he muttered and tried to make the nausea go away. He told himself that Charlie was fine, that he'd seen him after the accident and that he'd been walking around on his own two feet, very much alive and not even hurt that much. At the same time, he couldn't shake the thought that his little brother had been damn lucky to just walk away from this.

He took a deep breath and started skimming the report. Only after a few seconds, his eyes were captured by a word that made him stop and read the text more thoroughly. _Gunshots_. The report mentioned gunshots, fired at the windshield. No mention of someone bumping into the car like Charlie had said.

Don could hear his own breathing unnaturally loud in his ears and his hands were slightly trembling when he hastily scrolled down to the part that described the victim's injuries, Charlie's injuries. It didn't take him long to find it and when he did, it didn't come as a surprise, for he'd known as soon as he'd read about the windshield.

A gunshot wound.

Charlie's shoulder wasn't cricked, no, it had been torn open by a bullet. He'd been shot at, shot in his left shoulder, and if the shot had been just a little lower, or if Charlie had been seated just a little differently, it could have hit him in the chest and done more severe damage. Fatal damage.

The nausea was back with a vengeance and Don stumbled to the men's room. He was hot and cold at the same time, he felt like he was having a fever. It was better after he'd emptied his stomach, but he still felt compelled to remain in the stall for another bit until his breathing had calmed down and the trembling of his hands had receded.

 _He's fine_ , he told himself. _It was only his shoulder, it's going to heal._

He stopped short. He didn't even know that, he realized. Even though Charlie had survived the assault, it was still possible that there was nerve damage, or other permanent consequences.

 _Come on, stop it_ , he berated himself. It was of no use to think of all the worst-case scenarios. He'd seen Charlie, the same night of the accident. If there had been nerve damage, if there had been any severe damage, the hospital wouldn't have released him that soon. He was fine.

Even though someone had shot at him.

Don leaned against the stall's door and closed his eyes again. He knew he had to maintain a clear head (or rather get it back), but it was an undeniable fact that someone had decided to shoot at his little brother, and that this someone had to have allowed for the possibility that his actions could prove fatal to Charlie.

Who? Who the hell would do something like that? Who would try to kill his brother?

He suppressed a moan when he realized that he knew the answer. Well, he didn't know a specific answer, but that was just because there were far too many people that came into consideration. Over the years, Charlie had crossed a lot of dangerous people with his consulting work, and it was almost natural that sooner or later, someone would try and lash out at him.

The instant that realization hit him, he knew he had to do something. If someone had tried to kill Charlie, or in any event allowed for the possibility of him getting killed, that someone might try again and Don had to stop him before he could succeed.

He hurried back to his desk, but he hadn't even left the restroom when he already had his cell phone next to his ear. "Come on, Charlie, pick up," he muttered impatiently. He'd just reached his cubicle when his call went to voicemail. "Damn it!" he cursed and scrolled through the police report while he listened to Charlie's recorded voice.

"Hey, Charlie, it's Don, give me a call as soon as you get this," he said tersely after the beep and punched the button hard to end the call. Then he turned back to the computer screen and found what he'd been looking for, the name of the officer at the scene of Charlie's accident.

For a moment, it felt as though the world had stopped turning. All of Don's frenzy movements had come to a sudden stop as soon as his eyes had fallen on that name. What the hell was going on here? Why had Gary Walker of all people been the one to submit the report of Charlie's car accident? And why hadn't he bothered to tell Don that someone had used his little brother for target practice?

He could feel anger building up inside him. He had to suppress a growl when he called Gary's number, and he had to fight hard the urge to throw his cell through the room when the beeps suddenly stopped. Had Gary just rejected his call?

The next growl wasn't suppressed and he grabbed his jacket. While he practically stormed out of the bullpen, he tried reaching Charlie once more, once more without success.

The doors of the elevator opened and he almost collided with David. "Don! Hey, what –"

"I'll be in later today," he cut him off and punched hard at the button for the ground floor.

He could hear David's confused, "What happened?", but the doors had already closed before he could answer. He wouldn't have known what to reply anyway, at least not now, for he still wasn't clear himself on what had happened. However, he sure as hell was about to find out.

* * *

Charlie was drumming his fingers on the desk. He was aware that he was doing it and he guessed that sooner or later, it was going to unnerve the people around him, but he just couldn't stop. He had to deal with his anxiety somehow.

Today was the day. It was Monday morning and the LAPD was about to make a coordinated assault to apprehend the four top people of Koverchenko's network. With those key players out of the picture, they would be able to apprehend the other mobsters one by one without them being able to form a new alliance in the meanwhile. If they were lucky, the other mobsters wouldn't even know what was going on until they too were under arrest, not with the information structure that was at play in this network.

However, they hadn't taken them into custody yet. Charlie was well aware that there were still a number of things that could go wrong. After all, that was why he was here, to do his best to help in case things went south. After what had happened Saturday, Gary had wanted to retract his earlier request of him being on stand-by during the takedown, but Charlie had insisted on doing whatever was in his power, now more than ever. He wasn't too keen on giving the mobsters an opportunity to act on their threats. These people had to be stopped, and he wouldn't slip away before this was over.

Gary had understood that and Charlie thought he may have gained even more of the older man's respect by his tenacity. He could sense Gary's form hovering over him now, staring at the maps on the computer screen in order to stay on top of things. He could also sense the nervousness Gary emanated. This was something big and they both knew it. They also knew that if they made a mistake, they would have a hard time to try for a second time once the mobsters had been warned.

So the atmosphere was filled with anxiety and nervous apprehension. Once more, Charlie wondered how those people – Gary, the other LAPD officers, but also Don and his fellow FBI agents – could bear this kind of tension on a daily basis. He himself was so agitated that he could hardly sit still, and his stomach didn't feel completely right. Well, at least it distracted him from the pain. His shoulder was the worst of it, but it seemed as though every time he moved, he found a new spot that had been bruised or cut in the accident. It seemed even worse than yesterday, but that was probably because yesterday, the pain medication had taken the edge off. Today, going just by the state his body was in, he would have liked to just stay in his bed and avoid every movement, but it had been clear to him that that wasn't an option.

"Alright, everyone's in place," Gary said and Charlie couldn't stop himself from flinching. It had been a while since either of them had spoken. "Time to get this over with."

Charlie took a deep breath and listened to Gary giving the order over his radio. They watched the four teams moving in on their respective target, all four of them in different parts of town. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, or so Charlie thought until he heard Gary softly curse behind him.

"No, no, no… damn it, he's getting away!" He was pointing at one of the spots on the map that designated one of their targets, Andrej Chikatilo, Koverchenko's right hand on the outside. Now that Gary had pointed it out, Charlie could see it too: Chikatilo was escaping the net they'd woven around him.

The next moment, Charlie had shaken off his idleness and was on it. During the past hour, they'd made sure to update themselves regularly on all the data that could be useful in such a case – satellite images, other surveillance data, traffic information. Now, Charlie used all those things to figure out where the LAPD should best place its officers to intercept the mobster.

"Gary! What the hell is going on here?"

Charlie's head jerked around at the voice. What on earth was Don doing here?

"Don't lose him!" Gary shouted at him and Charlie was immediately back at the computer. Whatever Don was doing here, he had to ignore him for now, or they would actually lose Chikatilo.

He could hear Gary's and Don's raised and agitated voices in his back, but he blocked them out. He had work to do. If he messed this up, all their efforts would have been in vain. He cursed softly when he entered some commands; his shoulder was slowing him down and he didn't have time for that now. Finally, however, he had finished his one-handed attempt to tell the computer what to do and since it would take a couple of seconds for the program to complete the task, his attention was briefly directed to the argument behind him.

"Working on _what_?" Don was just shouting. "And how could his work bring him in harm's way? Gary, I swear to you, if –"

"We've had a security detail on him ever since, Eppes, and now shut up, we've got work to do here!"

Charlie shuddered. Both men seemed currently upset enough to make it a wise choice not to get in their way. Or anywhere near their way.

He swallowed when he realized he had to direct their attention onto him because his program was done. "I've got it," he said tensely. "Those are the most likely escape routes," he pointed at the lines on the screen, "and those are the spots where your officers are most likely to apprehend him."

"Good," Gary just said and yanked the radio back up to his face to give the necessary orders.

"Charlie, what the hell's going on here?"

Charlie continued staring at the computer screen, both to stay on top of things and to avoid looking his brother in the eye.

"A coordinated arrest," he mumbled, hoping that Don would leave him alone if he looked busy enough.

He could have hoped just as well for world peace to spontaneously break out. "An arrest of _whom_ , Charlie? Who did you cross? Who shot at you?"

Charlie swallowed. So Don had found out about that.

"Charlie, I'm talking to you!"

A hand grabbed his shoulder (the right one) and spun him around so that he directly faced the intense stare of his brother's eyes. He dropped his gaze and tried turning back to the screen.

"I've got work to do," he replied, but had some difficulty giving his voice the same sharp edge that could currently be found in his brother's. It was true, he did need to stay focused on the escape routes, on Chikatilo's movements. However, it was also a fact that his work wasn't the reason he didn't reply to Don's question, which had much more to do with fearing his brother's disapproval and fury.

"Charlie –"

"Shut up, Eppes, or you'll ruin everything!"

Charlie flinched again at Gary's violent outburst, but at least it seemed to be the appropriate means to get Don off their backs. A couple of tense, but silent minutes passed before the radio in Gary's hands aroused their attention.

Gary was the one who answered, but all three of them could hear the voice at the other end, "We got him."

Both Gary and Charlie breathed a sigh of relief, but Charlie knew that this was only the eye of the cyclone. He listened to Gary ending the conversation and tried to brace himself for the argument he knew was about to come. He couldn't, though. Now that his work was done, he just felt exhausted. This case had been asking a lot of him, his nerves had been tense since the very beginning, and now that it was over, he felt he could fall asleep right there and then at the desk.

"Yuri Koverchenko?"

Charlie shuddered. He knew that tone of his brother's. He'd heard it before, once, when their mom had been sick and he'd locked himself up in the garage. It was low and seemed cold and controlled, but if you knew Don, you couldn't miss the tremble in that voice that bespoke suppressed anger, anger that was about to erupt like a natural disaster.

The eruption came. Don slammed the file on the table that he must have picked up earlier, so hard that some pictures fell out. It was Chikatilo's file and Charlie knew its content well enough to realize that it had told his brother everything he needed to figure out what was going on.

"What the hell were you thinking? You know what Koverchenko did last time! How could you even ask him?"

Charlie's initial relief that it hadn't been him who had to suffer the consequences of the eruption but Gary was soon marred by a feeling of guilt. True, Gary had asked him, but it had been him who'd accepted the job, even though he'd known how Don would react.

He gathered his courage and spoke up. "Don –"

"Shut up!" And indeed, Charlie was rendered speechless. "Do you have any idea what your stupid, egotistical boasts could have resulted in? Do you have any idea what danger you put Dad in, or yourself, for that matter? No, you don't! You don't have the slightest idea what you were getting yourself into, but that didn't stop you from playing with the big guys, now did it?"

Now anger was fueling Charlie's words and made his guilty conscience dwindle. He stood and positioned himself directly opposite his brother, his feet steady on the ground, his gaze firm. "You think that's what this was about? That I somehow wanted to be important?"

"Why else would you go against a man like that!"

"Because he had to be stopped!"

Charlie was breathing hard. He could feel tears threatening, tears of anger. He'd known that Don wouldn't approve of what he'd done, but he would have never expected he'd accuse him of _this_. Was that how his brother really thought about him? That he only did what he did because he wanted to show off?

"Koverchenko was trying to get his network back together," Charlie stated. He'd stopped shouting and his voice was scarily low now, flat and cool, with as little emotion in it as possible. "We had to stop him before he could do that."

Don too stopped shouting, but the low hiss with which he spoke seemed even more threatening. Might also be because of the firm grip he held the collar of Charlie's shirt in. "'We'?" he repeated and Charlie couldn't suppress a shudder. "What on earth made you think that this was somehow your problem? I told you before, Koverchenko is none of your business."

"He would have hurt you. Or Dad, or me. I had to help the LAPD to keep us safe."

"That's not your job!"

Charlie winced. Don had tightened his grip. "You're hurting me."

Don let go and stared into his eyes. Charlie tried to decipher his gaze, to read the emotion in it, but before he could, Don broke eye contact and turned towards Gary.

"You should have come to me and left my brother out of this," he said. His voice was still low and still strange, cold and controlled, just like Charlie's had been earlier. "You almost got him killed."

With that, he abruptly turned away and left them staring at his retreating back.

Charlie swallowed, not feeling the relief he would have expected after the storm, but then again, he knew that it wasn't really over, that the storm hadn't abated yet, that it was still tossing and raging, just not over their heads.

All of a sudden, he became aware of all the people in the room. Since most officers were out in the field right now, there weren't as many here as there could have been, but it was enough to make him feel uncomfortable under their stares. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was get away from here, and he knew that his destination should be his upset brother. However, he wasn't sure how to feel about the prospect of facing him again so soon.

"You don't need me anymore, do you?"

He saw Gary shake his head. He could hear him take a breath and he knew the lieutenant was about to say something, but before he could, Charlie was already on his way to the door.

* * *

He didn't have to search for long. In fact, he hadn't even begun searching and just stumbled across his sibling's immobile form, leaning against the balustrade outside the LAPD office.

"Don."

He didn't turn around, but Charlie could see that he'd tensed up, so he'd heard him. He approached him, slowly, unsure whether or not it was safe for him to do so.

"You shouldn't have lied to me." Don wasn't looking at him and maybe it was better this way. Charlie could hear the disappointment in his voice and he wasn't sure if he could have borne to see it in his eyes on top of that.

He slowly got nearer until he was standing almost next to him, only a yard away from the balustrade. From here, he could see Don's profile, the hard stare, the set jaw. He was still pissed, that much was obvious, but Charlie also thought that his fury had abated somewhat.

"I knew you would just tell me to leave it alone," Charlie said quietly.

"Then maybe you should have left it alone," Don replied.

Charlie was silent for a moment, feeling his irritation awaken again. "You can't just tell me what I should and shouldn't do, Don."

"I can when it comes to the FBI."

"This wasn't for the FBI," Charlie argued, "it was for the LAPD. It had nothing to do with you."

That made Don finally turn around. "Nothing to do with me?" There was a belligerent tone in his voice. "Now listen closely, Charlie, very closely, and maybe then it'll finally get in that big stubborn head of yours. The only reason that Yuri Koverchenko started to take an interest in our family, the only reason that he started to threaten us, was because my job interfered with his affairs. Do you understand that? If I wasn't with the FBI, none of this would have happened, so this case had _everything_ to do with me and _I_ should have been the one to deal with it, do you get that now? You should have just told me and kept your head down and waited for everything to be over."

Charlie was shaking his head. "Come on, you can't be serious." When Don was silent, he felt compelled to go on. "Are you really suggesting that you should be the only one to deal with everything bad that happens to our family? That you should fight every criminal you ever came across on your own, all alone? And you call _me_ egotistical!"

That infuriated Don enough to make him speak. "Look, it's that simple, if I wasn't with the FBI, you would have never been shot!"

The shaking of Charlie's head became more vigorous. "Are you listening to yourself? Don!" He grabbed his brother's arm, effectively forcing him to look him in the eye. What he saw there stole the words out of his mouth. There was a chagrin in them, a pain so deep that Charlie thought his heart was being torn apart just from looking at it.

He had to swallow before he could go on. "You can't possibly blame yourself for that," he said. His voice was intense, imploring. Don just _had_ to see how irrational that was, he just had to stop tormenting himself like this. "You're not responsible for what Koverchenko did, and certainly not for what his co-mobsters did."

Don averted his gaze. His teeth were clenched. He still wasn't convinced.

"I endangered you."

The words were spoken in so low a volume that Charlie could hardly hear them. He did, however, and they filled him with so much emotion that for a moment, he was unable to say anything. Eventually, however, pity for his brother trumped everything else and enabled him to speak. "Don – you can't hope to be able to control everything. Sometimes things just happen. Just because you can trace the chain of events back to an action you carried out doesn't mean that you are to blame for all the consequences that ensue – or that you could have prevented bad things from happening if you had acted differently."

Don still wasn't looking at him and Charlie started feeling desperate. "Don, please… You should be proud of yourself. You regularly risk your own health to save others. You're a hero."

Don snorted. "Right. A hero who endangers everyone close to him."

Charlie shook his head. "You have to stop this. You have to stop doing this to yourself. And frankly, I'm… I'm lost. I don't know how to make you stop this stupid path of self-accusation."

That finally made his brother look at him, _really_ look at him. He felt like he was being x-rayed under Don's searching eyes. "You don't blame me?" he asked, his voice unnaturally thin.

"Of course not."

Now it was Don's turn to shake his head. "How? How can you not blame me?"

Charlie sighed. "Because it wasn't your fault. I meant what I said, Don. You're a hero. Do you have any idea how proud we are of you, me and Dad? All the good you do, all the wrongs you make right – they stand in no relation to the risks that your job might present for us. You make this city, this _world_ , a safer place, for Dad and me too. All that we're worried about is what your job might do to _you_. Other than that, the pros far outweigh the cons."

Don was still silent. Charlie thought for a moment, not sure whether he should present the last argument he had up his sleeve or whether it would do more harm than good. "I ran a risk analysis," he said eventually. "After the Koverchenko case. I tried figuring out whether we would have been safer if you had backed down as soon as Koverchenko started attacking you personally."

Don was looking up at him expectantly. He finally had his attention. "Yeah, so?"

Charlie smiled. "You did everything right. All the data showed that he wouldn't have stopped presenting a risk if you had stopped coming after him, but he stopped presenting a risk when he was put away." He paused. "That was why I did what I did. I figured that the parameters were still similar enough to our situation then and that it would still be wiser to fight evil than to let it go unhindered."

A slight smile appeared on Don's face, but there was still a sad look in his eyes. "But that was _my_ fight. I never meant to make it yours."

Charlie shrugged and his mouth twitched until a slightly lopsided grin appeared on his face as well. "Doesn't mean I can't make it my fight as well." His smile became more genuine when he added, "I thought there was enough evil out there so that you wouldn't mind some extra help."

Don nodded and Charlie watched the sadness leave his eyes, making room for a teasing glimmer and for something else, for a much fonder expression. "You're sure that's what you want? The Eppes brothers fighting the evils of this world?"

Charlie's grin broadened. "There's nothing I'd rather do."

\- finis -


	8. Hostage

**Disclaimer:** I own a laptop and some ideas, but not Numb3rs and its characters.  
 **Rating:** T  
 **Timeline:** early season 2  
 **A/N:** Thanks for your reviews, especially for your ideas for I, Guest, I'm already working on that. It helped a lot, so if anyone got any ideas for J, just shoot :)

* * *

 **Hostage**

"I'm still not sure I can see the point of this," Colby said when he stopped the car. He noticed the look David gave him, but wasn't quite sure what it meant. It seemed to be saying something like 'Need you even ask?', but if that was what it said, then Colby had to answer the question affirmatively. He had no idea how a mathematician was supposed to help them find robbers on the run, at least not by visiting their former hiding-places.

"Well, it's simple, really," Charlie said as he scrambled out of the backseat. "By analyzing the robbers' former hiding-places, we can establish what their notion of an ideal hiding-place is and thus narrow down the places where to look for them now."

"But they left this place. They left it even before we found it."

The mathematician shrugged. "It can still help us. They chose this place once, they must have had reasons for doing so. True, we'll have to factor in the fact that they left it, but that can also give us valuable clues. We just have to figure out _why_ they left. Did they find a place that better fit their standards? Or did their standards change? Were they afraid their hiding-place was compromised? Or do they change their hiding-places regularly, as a safety-measure?"

Colby shook his head. "We don't know the answer to any of those questions, and we have no way of figuring them out without finding the bad guys, and then having those answers will be fairly pointless."

The Whiz Kid gave him another shrug. "We don't have to know the answers to those questions. We can simply run the algorithm with different scenarios and then rank the likelihood of possible further hiding-places according to which answers to those questions seem the most plausible."

"Well, I hope by 'we', you mean you," David interposed, "for I have no idea how 'we' could do that."

Charlie grinned. "Don't worry. You just do your usual work and help me gather the data, and I'll do the rest."

"Well," Colby sighed, "then let's 'gather data'. What exactly should we be looking for?"

"Everything. We need a complete picture of this building. The number of rooms, the dimensions of each of them, their arrangement, the material used in the walls and floors, the position of the windows and the way the place is illuminated, what can be seen from the windows –"

"Alright," Colby interrupted him before he went on like that all day. "So I guess we start by what can be seen from the windows? Most of the other information you mentioned should be in the construction plans."

David and Charlie agreed and they set to their task.

* * *

Few minutes later, Colby was standing on the rooftop, inhaling deeply. _Well_ , he thought when the air filled his lungs, _not as good as back home, but not as bad as down in the streets either._

He paused. He thought he'd heard something, something out of the ordinary, and since they were still at something like a crime scene (even though it was an abandoned one) and had a civilian with them (a civilian who wasn't known for paying attention to his surroundings), it was wise to be doubly careful. As quietly as he could, he stepped back inside. He knew that David was two floors beneath him and Charlie one floor, but he couldn't hear either of them while he waited for his eyes to readjust to the dim light. That wasn't out of the ordinary, though, their task wasn't a noisy one. Maybe the noise he'd heard had just been a rat somewhere.

Or maybe not.

"FBI! Freeze!"

As soon as he heard David's command, he pulled out his gun and hastily got nearer to where his partner's voice emanated from. A few moments later, he was standing on top of the stairs that led down to the next floor and halted, his attention captured by the scene that was playing out before his eyes.

David was standing underneath and slightly next to him, pointing his gun at a group of three. Two of the three people were the robbers they were looking for. One of them was pointing a gun back at David, his arms outstretched before his body to present a smaller target area. He had to know, however, that he didn't need to worry, not as long as his accomplice was pointing a gun at Charlie's temple. The accomplice had put his other arm around the mathematician's neck and judging from the look on his face, Charlie didn't seem to find that position all that comfortable.

"Let him go and put down your weapon," David said calmly, his voice betraying just a little his level of agitation.

"Funny," the man with his arm around Charlie's neck said. "I was gonna tell you the same thing. You too, up there on the stairs."

"That's not going to happen," David said while Colby slowly descended the stairs to have a better vantage point.

"Really? Well, that's a shame. For I don't think your little friend can survive too long without air." That being said, he started applying more pressure on Charlie's neck. They could see him wince and Colby knew that it had to be hurting, even though so far, he himself had only been held like that in training situations and thus probably not as tightly.

"Alright, just calm down!" he said before this guy would suffocate the mathematician. "Look, we can do what you say, but it won't be of much help to you. We know who you are, and we'll just come after you. If you don't let him go now, you're only making this worse for yourselves."

He stared at him for a moment. "You're bluffing."

Colby shook his head. "I'm not. You're Jason Brown, and your friend over there is William Hathcock. We've been onto you for some time now." And now they were so close to apprehending them and couldn't do a damn thing without endangering a civilian.

"Just let us end this peacefully now, before it gets any worse," David said when their only answer was silence.

"Jason, what do we do?"

Colby suppressed a smile. William was already cracking, now all they had to do was wearing down Jason.

Before he could say anything else, though, Jason spoke up. "Well, too bad for you I'm not that amped up about going to prison. We're leaving, and we're gonna take your friend with us. Just as a little insurance. Leave us alone and nothing's gonna happen to him."

"You know we can't let you do this –"

Charlie winced again as Jason tightened his grip once more. "Oh, can't you? And what are you going to do to stop us? I'm telling you, you can't do a damn thing, not if you want your little friend to walk out of here alive."

"Look, just leave him alone, okay?" David said. "If you need a hostage so badly, just take me."

"Or me," Colby added. He was well aware that either of them would be better off in a situation like this than the mathematician.

Jason snorted. "Geez, now that's a tough one. What do you say, Billy, should we take one of the big brawny feds or the small skinny geek?"

Before Billy could say anything, Colby tried to talk some sense into them. "Listen, if you –"

"Shut up, Green Eyes. Believe me, if this was anything like The Dating Game, I would take you in an instant, but sadly, we have to make more practical choices today." With that, Jason seemed to be done playing around; the look in his eyes had become hard and he seemed a lot more efficient and business-like. "Now put down your weapons, and do it fast. We heard that that security guard died, so we know you'll be charging us with murder –"

"We know that was an accident," David interrupted him, but Jason seemed to be at the end of his tether.

"Shut up!" he shouted.

A grunt escaped Charlie's lungs and Colby could see that it was caused by the gun that had been pressed harder against his temple. Also, he thought that his face was starting to turn blue from lack of oxygen. Whatever they were going to do, they had to do it fast.

"Lay your weapons on the floor, _now_."

"Alright," David said and started bending down to follow the command. He too must have seen that time was running against them. Still, Colby couldn't suppress a soft curse. He knew it would have been risky not to give into their demands, too risky, but it nonetheless went against every fiber in his body to comply with what those criminals told them to do.

"Now take out your handcuffs, slowly, one by one. You first!" He pointed at David and David complied. Colby was next. "Now wrap the cuffs around the banister and cuff both your hands, nice and slow, I want to see your hands at all times."

When they were done, a grin spread out on Jason's face. "Good. Now Billy, take their guns and destroy their cell phones."

Billy first took their cell phones and effectively broke them with two well-aimed kicks. Then, he searched them for further weapons, took the car keys from the pocket of Colby's jacket and at last took their guns and put them into the waistband of his jeans.

"Alright, let's go," he said when he was done and the two of them left, dragging Charlie along, without the agents being able to do anything to stop them.

"Shit!" Colby cursed when they were out of sight.

However, he hadn't given up hope yet. He waited until he heard the front door of the building fall shut and when he was confident that they couldn't be heard anymore, he hastily turned towards David. "Quick, my wallet, in the back pocket of my jeans, I've got a spare key in it."

David didn't hesitate for a moment and retrieved the wallet, opened it, found the key and managed to free Colby who then in turn released him. All that had taken them less than a minute, but when they'd run outside, they could see that their car was already gone. And with it, the two robbers and their hostage.

* * *

Charlie tried taking deep and regular breaths and kept telling his heart to beat at a more agreeable pace. At the rate it was going now, it made him feel nauseous. On the other hand, it was rational somehow. It was as though his heart had to perform all the beats it was designed to make all the faster now that it had only so little time left to complete its task.

 _Stop it!_ , he told himself angrily. That wasn't going to happen, not today, and he sure wasn't going to give up. This wasn't the end. They'd said that they just needed him for insurance, they would let him go as soon as they were gone far enough.

 _Right_ , he thought bitterly. _Great idea trusting the guys who took you at gunpoint._

He sighed and tried not to wince when the action made pain shoot through his throat. By now he was used to the sting he felt with every breath he took, caused by the tight grip Jason had held him in, but he realized only now that keeping his breathing regular was a wise decision, not only to make his heart beat more regularly, but also because of the stabs of pain he felt as soon as he took more forceful breaths.

Jason was sitting beside him, on the back seat, the gun still pointed at his head. He tried to ignore that, tried telling himself that they weren't going to shoot him, that they wouldn't unnecessarily give up their hostage.

 _We heard that that security guard died, so we know you'll be charging us with murder_ , the words shot through his mind, uninvited and more than a little unwelcome. They had killed already. They had already taken a life, apparently without intending to, so even if they weren't planning to kill him, who said that it wouldn't happen anyway? An unfortunate accident, bad luck, but what was there to do about it. Would they even try to be careful? They could always get another hostage. Getting another life, on the other hand, seemed much more complicated, so Charlie fervently hoped that they still cared about the blood they shed, ignoring the ease with which Jason pointed the gun at him, and ignoring the question that kept nagging at the back of his head, _Aren't all inhibitions lowered once someone committed their first murder?_

 _Stop it_ , he told himself, again. They weren't going to kill him, not like that. They were still acting rationally, they weren't on a bloodthirsty rampage, he could see that. They were just trying to escape the authorities. Besides, losing himself in all the worst-case scenarios he could think of wasn't going to help him. This was some deep sh... trouble he'd gotten himself into, and the least he could do now was to make the best of it. He just had to stay positive, not antagonize them and not lose hope that they would soon let him go. Or that Don would somehow manage to get him out of this mess.

He suppressed the urge to sigh again and instead closed his eyes, exasperated with himself. If only he hadn't been so stupid. If he just hadn't let those guys overpower him so easily, he wouldn't have to deal with the consequences now. If he'd just paid a little more attention, they wouldn't have been able to take him hostage and then they wouldn't have been able to overpower David and Colby on top of it. He'd messed up, big time, and all that was left for him to do now was hope that fortune favored fools and that he would get out of this alive.

They had to have already been there when David, Colby and he had arrived at the presumably abandoned building. Probably they'd overheard them, too. Charlie had no idea why they'd come back, but he didn't really care. Maybe they'd considered it safest, maybe they'd thought it was the last place the FBI would be looking for them. In any case it was a place where they knew their way around, so they'd had no trouble hiding and coming out just at the right moment when Charlie had passed them – alone, without one of the big, scary FBI agents to protect him.

He suppressed another sigh. Don always told him to pay more attention to his surroundings, especially when he was at a crime scene. Well, he'd been right. Once again. Too bad Charlie hadn't listened to him. Once again.

 _Stop it_ , he admonished himself. Again. What was done was done. He had to learn his lesson, but musing over what he should and shouldn't have done wasn't going to help him now. Self-accusation was just as useless as self-pity at this point, and he was determined not to make another mistake. He just had to make the best of this situation, pay attention for once, and try his best to stay alive.

* * *

David closed his eyes while he waited for the call to connect. Gladly, he'd remembered having seen a payphone nearby and had already arranged for tracing their stolen car and Charlie's cell, but the worst part was still about to come. He had to inform Don.

"Eppes."

"Don. It's me, David."

There was a second of silence at the other end. David didn't dare to speak, but he knew Don had to be suspecting that something was wrong, not just because he must have heard the graveness in his tone. He also had to have noticed that David was calling him from a payphone and not from his cell.

"What's wrong?" There was a wariness in Don's voice. He knew that Charlie was with them. Should have been with them.

David swallowed. He had to get it over with though, and fast, because time was of the essence. "Don… we messed up. The robbers showed up at the building and they… They took Charlie with them."

There was no reaction. All he could hear was Don's breathing and the words started tumbling out of his mouth, desperate to fill the silence. "I'm so sorry, Don, they must have overpowered him somehow while Colby and I were in another part of the building, they were holding a gun to his head, there was nothing we could have done."

More silence at the other end.

"We already started a search for Charlie's cell and for the car, they took ours. They're gonna call you as soon as they traced them. We're gonna find him, Don. They left less than ten minutes ago, they have to be still in the area. And they can't get far with Colby's car without stopping somewhere, the tank's almost empty. We're onto them and we're gonna get them, soon."

At a loss as to what else there was to say besides repetitions of apologies that wouldn't help them now, David endured some more seconds of silence before Don finally answered.

"Come back here asap," was the toneless reply before the call was disconnected.

* * *

They'd found the phone at the side of the road. For a few wonderful minutes, Don had allowed himself to hope they'd released Charlie already, that they'd abandoned him at the side of the road and taken off without him. When all they'd found had been the phone and no Charlie, Don's fall onto the hard ground of reality had been that much harder. His little brother remained at the mercy of those two robbers, of two men who had already taken a life, and the only reason he found himself in this position was that he'd wanted to help Don out on a case.

In the meanwhile, they'd continued tracing the car and there at least they'd been lucky. Since David and Colby had reacted as quickly as they had, they had LAPD chasing the car after only a couple of minutes, before the robbers could have switched vehicles. They were onto them now, they were chasing them and they were not about to let them go.

As soon as he'd gotten off the phone with David, he'd called Amita and asked her and Larry to come to the FBI. For a moment, he'd warred with himself about his decision, wondering if they could afford bringing in consultants after just having lost one. Temporarily lost one. It hadn't really been a contest, though. Charlie's life was on the line and Don would be damned if he didn't use all the help he could get his hands on.

David and Colby hadn't returned to the FBI yet when the call came in from the LAPD that the robbers and their hostage had come to a stop and entrenched themselves in an abandoned warehouse in an industrialized area on the outskirts. Without losing a second of time, Megan and he left, notifying both the rest of their team and the two scientists where they should meet them.

Don was still feeling as if he was walking through a nightmare when they arrived at the warehouse in question. He was still trying to wake up home in his bed, bathed in sweat, and find that everything had been just the cruel fantasy of his own mind, for this couldn't be happening. It just wasn't possible that Charlie was somewhere in there with two armed men, his only function being their hostage, their leverage in case they decided to go on running.

He was staring at the walls of the run-down building as if he could x-ray them and spot his brother somewhere. He couldn't, of course. There was no way to look inside save for a door at the side, which was closed however, and a large gate at the back, also closed, or so the LAPD officers assured him.

A SWAT team arrived with a vehicle equipped for hostage negotiations. Only few seconds later, another LAPD car arrived and dropped off a contrite-looking David and Colby. Don listened to their brief report without showing any kind of reaction. With clenched teeth, he watched Megan take the megaphone to start negotiating with the robbers. The hostage takers. Don shuddered and he was quite sure it had little to do with the chill breeze in the air.

"Jason Brown and Billy Hathcock, this is Megan Reeves. I'm with the FBI and I'd like to talk to you about your demands. If you don't want to shout, you can just call this number." She gave them the number of the phone in the SWAT vehicle at the open door of which they were standing and waiting for a reaction from the hostage takers.

At the back of his mind, Don noticed how Megan tried to establish a relationship with the robbers by referring to William as Billy, just like Jason had done when they'd taken Charlie. He too remembered all those little tricks they'd been taught at Quantico, but for the first time in his career, it occurred to him how meaningless they were. Those guys had Charlie with them, they were probably still holding him at gunpoint, and they wouldn't release him just because Megan was using the robber's nickname.

"You're surrounded," Megan went on. "We won't let you leave with the hostage, but we're willing to end this peacefully, though we first need to make sure that Charlie is alright."

Another little trick, Don noticed, use the hostage's name to make them more empathetic. Still didn't help much. Just because they knew his name didn't make Charlie bullet-proof.

The silence stretched on for minutes and Don thought the tension would tear him apart. He knew that waiting at this point wasn't that uncommon, and it didn't even have to be a bad sign. They might be discussing their options right now, making a plan. If they were, those were good news for Charlie, because it would mean that they were still acting rationally and trying to make the best of their situation. Shooting their hostage wasn't part of that.

The phone in the SWAT vehicle rang. All four federal agents flinched, but Megan had soon collected herself and answered. "This is Megan Reeves, have you thought about our earlier conversation?"

"We want a fully fueled, non-descript car parked directly outside the door in an hour. I don't care about the brand, just make sure it's new and fast and you don't try any tricks. If we think that you're following us or tracking us or trying anything else, we're gonna kill the hostage, understood?"

"Understood," Megan said. They all knew that they weren't going to let Charlie leave with them once again, but making that clear to their hostage takers wasn't a priority now. "Before we can get to that, though, I need to know whether Charlie is alright."

There was some indistinct noise at the other end, then Charlie's voice, "I'm fine. I'm not hurt."

Don closed his eyes. He was suddenly feeling dizzy and sick, but he knew it was just relief, and he knew just as well that he needed to get himself together now. His brother's voice, even though trembling a little, had sounded surprisingly calm, almost firm, and if Charlie could keep it together, then Don was certainly not going to lose it.

"So, you heard him, we're taking really good care of him," they heard Jason's voice again. "Now get us that car and until then, just shut up, no attempts to offer us food or anything. Just leave us the hell alone."

Before Megan could say anything to that, he'd hung up on her.

Don turned around and stepped away, trying to walk off the emotions that were tightening his chest. So Charlie was alive and seemed relatively okay, that was good. Everything else, however, wasn't working in their favor. The hostage takers still had the upper hand, because there still wasn't much they could do to stop them from taking Charlie with them in their new escape vehicle without endangering him.

He could hear David approach from behind and was praying he would keep his mouth shut and at the same time hoping that he wouldn't, hoping that he would give him a reason to vent on him, to make him suffer for what he and Colby had let happen.

"He's fine, Don. They're smart, they know they'll only blow their chances of getting away if they hurt him."

Don still wasn't looking at him. At first, he kept his voice quiet and controlled, but he could already feel the anger rise inside him, and he didn't even try to stop it. "Did you just say he was fine?"

There was no answer, and Don turned around, his voice far from quiet now, and pushed hard against David's chest, shoving him backwards against the SWAT vehicle. "DID YOU SAY HE WAS FINE!? He's been taken hostage! He's in there with two armed robbers! He's at their mercy because you idiots were too stupid to keep an eye on him!"

"Don –"

Arms were trying to get him off, Colby's arms, and Don knew he had to get away, had to give himself some moments alone. " _You_ let that happen, both of you! You just hope he gets out of there alive, or I swear –" Suddenly, his throat was closed up tight and even if he had found words to say, he couldn't have said them. He just turned away from them and wiped the moisture from his eyes.

* * *

Charlie was watching his two captors warily. He kept silently wishing they would finally let go of their guns, but until now, they hadn't. On the other hand, they would have been pretty careless if they had. But then again, they did exhibit a certain level of carelessness in dealing with their hostage. Other than keeping him in check with their weapons and telling him to keep his mouth shut, the treatment he received from them wasn't all that restricting. There were no real threats, no real physical force except the shoving and dragging they'd used to get him in here, and they hadn't even restrained his hands or feet, even though it probably wouldn't have been hard to find something adequate to do that in all the debris that was lying around. Not that Charlie was complaining. Still, it didn't seem as though the robbers had a very high opinion of their hostage's ability to fight his way out of here.

And were they wrong? Until now, the measures that they had taken were completely sufficient. Charlie didn't dare moving, even though he was getting cold fast, sitting there on the cool floor without keeping his muscles busy. He could also feel a draft from somewhere and remembered that there was a pretty cool wind outside today.

Neither did he dare talking. He'd deliberated on whether to try and talk them out of this, try to convince them of letting him go, but he'd decided against it. Granted, his situation could be better (he could have done without the guns and the fear they elicited), but as long as they ignored him and just waited for something to happen, it wasn't that bad. It could certainly be worse, and that was exactly what he was mortally afraid of what could happen if he decided to start a conversation with them. He thought it much wiser to let Megan handle that.

He drew air in through his nose, but stopped himself short before exhaling it all at once, remembering what that did to his throat. It seemed as though he'd just have to wait this out, one way or the other.

* * *

It hadn't taken Don even a full minute to win his composure back, at least on the outside. He was just returning to the SWAT vehicle when Amita and Larry showed up and he shooed them into the van. He noticed the gazes his team members gave him, Megan's slightly reproachful one and the nervous ones from Colby and David, but he chose to ignore them for now. There would be time to deal with that later, once they had Charlie safely back with them. Everything that didn't serve that purpose had to wait.

Calling their dad fell into that category, too. He knew he should call him. He knew he had to let him know what was going on, but he didn't. He tried telling himself that he hadn't done it so far to avoid complications, to avoid being distracted from their mission by taking care of the hostage's upset father and keeping him away from the scene, but he knew in his heart that it wasn't true, that in reality, he hadn't done it so far because he couldn't. He couldn't deal with that now, not on top of everything else. He couldn't bear the thought of telling their dad what had happened, or of telling him that everything would be fine while seeing the fear in his eyes, while his own mind was haunted by all sorts of horror images. Maybe, just maybe, he'd have Charlie back before he'd have to tell him. He just had to hope.

"Thanks for coming here so quickly," Don said hurriedly as he led the two scientists inside the van. He noticed their pale and wide-eyed appearances and for a brief moment, he wondered whether he wasn't asking too much of them. His mind wasn't changed, however. He had to use every tool he had, and right now, Charlie's friends were just another tool to help them get him out safely.

"We were wondering if there was any way we can get eyes on the inside," he explained to them. "We have to do everything we can not to let them leave with Charlie, so if we get an opportunity to assault, we have to take it, but we can only do that if we're reasonably sure that Charlie will be out of harm's way. We have infrared cameras, but until now, we haven't been able to get them inside. Is there maybe a way to apply them from the outside somehow? You know, to look through the walls?"

Larry shook his head. "Unless you have some new, secret infrared cameras that nobody has heard of so far, then I'm afraid this is not possible. Unfortunately, brick walls don't let through the range of wavelength that is commonly used in infrared cameras. You see, the principle at work in those cameras makes use of the fact that the human body can be viewed as a blackbody –"

They didn't have time for a physics lecture, so Don interrupted him, "Can you maybe think of another method to look inside this warehouse?"

He was looking at them hopefully, thinking of how often he'd presented a seemingly unsolvable problem like this one to his brother and how Charlie had just pulled the solution out of his hat like a rabbit. The blank stares Larry and Amita gave him made his hope crumble. He knew that it probably wasn't fair to them, that Charlie might not have known what to do either. Still, the possibility that he _could_ have found the solution to this problem made him feel all the more desperate.

"We could try using radar?" Amita said, but the doubtful tone in her voice kept Don from nurturing too much hope.

He was right in doing so. Larry shook his head immediately. "There's no way to distinguish a human person from anything else by radar." Suddenly, the physicist's eyes sparkled, and Don allowed himself to hope again. "Actually, why shouldn't there be? Just because it's not possible with the wavelengths usually used in radar technology, it's by far not impossible! All we'll need to do is use the correct wavelength! Granted, none of the typical radar devices seem to be applicable, but in principle, it should work, we only have to find the right frequency!"

"You can do that?"

"As I said, all we have to do is find the right frequency, then we should get a picture of the inside."

"But Larry…" Don's hope was wavering when he saw the insecurity in Amita's eyes. "This would still work like the radar that is usually used, right? So even if we found a practicable frequency, we'd still have a hard time interpreting the data we'd get." She turned towards the FBI agents. "Radar images aren't anything like infrared images, the physics behind them is completely different. We won't see bodies that emanate a certain radiation, like heat, as we do with infrared cameras, but we'll have to interpret the reflections we get when we send radiation out. Since it's going to be tricky to find exactly the right wavelength, one that penetrates a brick wall, but is reflected by human bodies, the pictures we'll get will probably be a lot vaguer."

Don bit his lip. His hope was dampened, but he wasn't about to let it go yet. "Just try, and do it fast. We have less than an hour."

Larry's eyes went wide. "An hour? But that's –"

"We'll try everything we can," Amita interrupted him before he could say the word that still seemed to hang in the air, 'impossible'.

* * *

The minutes passed like water running through their hands. They'd found a suitable car and were about to park it in the spot the robbers had demanded, not willing to irritate them by stalling for more time, but before they could do that, they had to make sure they'd exhausted all their options. Until now, Amita and Larry hadn't been able to come up with anything, but they'd just have to work with what they got so far, for the time the hostage takers had given them had just about run out.

"Alright, what do you have? We need everything you got, now."

Amita seemed close to tears. "It's not enough," she said. "We used the radar of the SWAT vehicle and found a frequency that can get through the wall, but we weren't able to get much out of it."

"Well, that is not entirely true; you can see movement on it," Larry said and Don felt a flicker of hope.

"Show us."

He squinted his eyes when he saw the pictures. On the blue surface, there were some wavering yellowish and reddish areas, not resembling anything Don had ever seen before. "Are those people?" he asked, not sure whether an affirmative answer would reassure him. He had the feeling that if they went inside going by that data, they could just as well go in blind.

"Could be. Could also be there are things dangling from the ceiling and wavering in the breeze. Could even be cars passing behind the warehouse."

He frowned. "So it could be anything."

She nodded, probably because she couldn't talk anymore. Her tears had broken free.

He clenched his teeth. "Well, we'll have to find another way then." He'd said the words primarily to calm Amita down, because he had no idea how they were going to stop the robbers from taking Charlie with them on another stage of their escape route. If they used him as a shield while they got into the car, there wasn't a way to stop them, at any rate none that he could see. "The two of you are going to stay in the SWAT vehicle now, don't come out unless I tell you to." He waited until they nodded and only then turned his attention back to the warehouse. He couldn't afford endangering another civilian today.

"Alright," Megan said through the megaphone, "the car is ready. We're going to park it in front of the door now. We're going to let you leave, but in exchange, you have to let Charlie go."

Don grimaced. He could almost hear the robbers laugh. They knew quite well that the FBI had no leverage to make them follow their request.

Colby parked the car at only a yard's distance from the door and Megan updated the hostage takers, reminding them once again of the need to leave Charlie behind. As if that was going to have any effect on them.

A minute or two passed, then the door slowly opened. All the agents and officers on scene, including the SWAT team, were standing by, taking cover with weapons ready in their hands, but they weren't moving in, knowing fully well that it was too risky as long as they had no idea what was going on inside. Just as they'd expected, nobody was coming out; probably only one of them had come to the door to make sure everything was in order before all three of them would emerge from the building. Even though they had been expecting this, they had decided on not moving in and trying to take the advance guard out; the risk that the other one would take revenge by killing their hostage was just too great.

More minutes passed. For Don it felt like ages. He could feel his hands starting to shake. That never happened to him, not in the field. Damn it, he was too close to this, and he knew it. Maybe he should have stood down? But how could he? He couldn't just abandon Charlie, there was no way he could just give up control and trust that the others would –

The phone in the van rang and Don almost had a heart attack. From the look on Megan's face, he could tell that she was just as startled, but she won back her professional stance very quickly.

"This is Megan Reeves."

Don was still outside, still taking cover, but Megan had thought of transmitting the phone call to their radios so they could listen in.

"Megan, hey."

Don's hand cramped up. That was Charlie's voice, he would recognize that anywhere, but it sounded strange, somehow both nervous and relieved.

"You can come in now," his brother said.

Through the open door of the van, Don exchanged a brief look with Megan. She seemed just as confused and wary as him.

"Charlie, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, just come in now, please."

He saw Megan frown and bite her lip. She hesitated before she went on, probably nervous because she didn't want to make Charlie say anything that could provoke his captors' anger. "Charlie, can you tell me where Jason and Billy are?"

"They're sitting right here in front of me, on the floor. They're restrained, so just come in now, okay?"

Megan looked hard at Don, a mutual understanding in their eyes. "Alright, Charlie, we're coming in," she said and disconnected the call.

"You think it's a trap?" the leader of the SWAT team, a tall, muscular man called John Burton, asked. "Why? Why should they force him to make that call? Why should they set up a trap for us instead of just running?"

Apparently, they'd all been thinking the same thing. "I don't know what's going on in there," Don said, his voice low, his whole body tense, "but I know that whatever it is, we need to be on the lookout. Since we have no way of knowing whether it's an ambush, and if so of what kind, we'll just have to be prepared for anything."

"But maybe there _is_ a way," Megan interposed. "Maybe Charlie gave us a hint, some kind of warning to let us know what to expect."

Colby frowned. "You think that's likely?"

Megan stared back at him hard. "He's smart."

"Yeah, but…" Colby threw an uncertain glance at his boss, and noticed that Burton and his SWAT team seemed similarly doubtful. "I mean, he's not that used to being around this kind of situations," was what Colby finally settled for.

"Still, he may have thought of something. I'm not saying he did, I'm just saying it's possible and therefore we should check it out before going in. We should listen to the phone call once again, especially you, Don, you know him best."

Don nodded gravely. If there was any chance to get more information, to improve their chances of this not ending in a disaster, they had to take it.

There was nothing, though. They listened to the recording two more times, but none of them could detect any hidden clues as to what was happening inside. They just had to risk it then, go in.

* * *

Nothing had happened when they had stealthily, noiselessly entered the warehouse through the door, his team and three of the SWAT team, while the other SWAT agents and the LAPD officers were covering the gate at the back of the building. They were in a long, narrow corridor that apparently ran along almost the entire side of the building. Going left, they'd found two doors, leading to a bathroom and a boiler room, and now, after having turned to the right, there was nothing else to explore save for the thick metal door they were surrounding.

It wasn't completely shut. There was a crack between the wall and the door that allowed them to see a part of the interior. Don peeked into the big room, the core of the warehouse, and tried to get an overview. Without success. There was heavy machinery standing around and a lot of debris. He hadn't been able to see Charlie or his captors, though. He sighed deeply, yet noiselessly, and briefly closed his eyes. They'd just have to risk it.

When they had made sure the door wasn't booby-trapped, they got into position. With his fingers, he motioned at his colleagues, and then, together, they went in.

"FBI! Freeze!"

They advanced quickly and it didn't take them more than two seconds to see them. They would have never expected though to see them like this.

Just as Charlie had said, his captors were sitting on the floor. One of them, Jason, seemed a little groggy. That had probably something to do with the gash on the side of his head, directly above the temple. A trickle of blood was running down his cheek. His hands were tied behind his back, apparently with duct tape. Billy, with a sour look on his face that seemed almost comical, was also restrained, at least partially. His feet were bound together, also with duct tape, and the same tape had been used to tie his left hand to a solid looking pillar, the same pillar Jason was leaning against. It looked as though he had restrained first Jason and then himself, probably at gunpoint. The only thing wrong with this theory was that it would mean that Charlie had been the one to make him do that. At gunpoint. However, a powerful sign in favor of that theory was the gun in Charlie's hands that was pointed at the two robbers.

"Charlie, are you alright?"

Don still wasn't sure if he could believe what he saw, but he was nonetheless glad to see Charlie nod.

"I'm fine, but was it really necessary to storm in here like this? You almost gave me a heart attack. Anyway, what took you so long?"

Don just stared at him, not sure whether he wanted to hug him or shake him. His brother's voice sounded a little higher than usual and quite tremulous, but his words betrayed a casualness that was less than appropriate. But then, what the hell did he know about what was appropriate in a case like this when he had to recognize beyond a doubt that this man with the gun in his hand was his geeky little brother Charlie.

David was the first one to realize they still had to secure the scene. He approached Charlie and was stretching out his hand. Don could see that there was still a certain wariness in his behavior and he couldn't blame him for that. This whole scene seemed surreal.

"You can give me the gun now, Charlie. We've got everything under control."

Charlie jerked his head around and it seemed as if he'd only now become aware of David's presence. It took him another second to react to his words. Then he quickly nodded and handed the gun over to him with shaking hands. Don distinctly heard him mutter a "Thanks," as David released him of the heavy (and deadly) metal object, and at that moment it hit him how scarily pale his brother was. His face seemed almost white, which made the bruises that were forming on his neck from when Jason had hold him in his grip all the more prominent. Therefore, Don was quite grateful when he saw David put a steadying hand on his brother's arm, but that also spurred him on to finally get to him himself.

"Here, buddy," he said as he put a comforting arm around Charlie's shoulders, "you better sit down before you fall down."

Charlie, his face still white, closed his eyes and just nodded. He let Don help him lower himself to the ground and lean against a big machine the purpose of which Don couldn't figure out for the life of him, but he was content knowing that right now, it served to keep his brother upright.

"You're sure you're alright?" he asked and the concern in his voice was almost palpable.

Charlie ran trembling hands over his face, then nodded. "Yeah. Just the adrenaline wearing off, I guess."

Don nodded. He knew the feeling. His arm was still around his brother's shoulders and after all the events of the day, the contact felt so good that he decided to just let Charlie sit here for another couple of minutes until his legs stopped feeling like rubber. Don's legs as well.

"I'm sorry."

Don's head jerked around to the low, raspy sound, confusion written all over his face. "What? What for?"

"You always tell me to pay more attention, and I never do. Believe me, I realize the importance of it now, after having been overpowered so easily."

Don sighed and pulled his brother towards him, giving his shoulders a tight squeeze. "Oh, Charlie," he said softly, but was at a loss how to go on. "Don't blame yourself for that," he finally said. "That could have happened to anybody." Over Charlie's head, he locked eyes with David and Colby, directing his words also at them. He knew that maybe he wouldn't have let Charlie wander around the crime scene like they had done, but he also knew that they hadn't been as reckless as he'd earlier accused them of being.

He watched his team and the SWAT team tend to the captors, replacing the duct tape with handcuffs, and shook his head in bewilderment. It didn't seem possible and if he'd been able to think of any other explanation, he would have probably gone for that one, but it actually seemed that Charlie had taken down these two men, who were now being taken away by three people of the SWAT team, on his own.

"How did you do that?" he asked. "How did you overpower them?"

"It was just like catching Santa Claus," Charlie answered. His voice was a little hoarse and thus Don wasn't completely sure he'd heard right. Had his brother just said 'Santa Claus'? "You simply transform the room they're in to the four-dimensional space and then convolute the room in a way so that they're entangled when you transform everything back to the three-dimensional space."

His frown deepened. Was Charlie really alright? He exchanged a glance with his coworkers who had listened to their conversation, and he could see the same worry in their eyes that he felt in his heart.

Just as he was looking back at Charlie, he saw that his brother too had noticed their worried glances. "It's a joke," he said, and although his voice was still a little hoarse, his tone was so firm and matter-of-fact that it actually calmed Don down a little. "A math joke. A pretty popular one, in fact."

"Are you sure?" Colby asked, doubt written all over his face.

"Look, what do you think I did? I waited until they split up so I could take them on one by one."

His words were followed by silence. It was finally David who spoke up. "That's another joke, right?"

Charlie looked back and forth between them. "Of course not. How else would I have done it?"

Don noticed his big, brown eyes were resting on him now with that look he'd seen so often on his face, a look seeking help Charlie didn't realize he didn't need, and he had a hard time keeping the emotion out of his voice. "Don't ask me," he said, "I still can't believe you did it at all."

Charlie continued looking at their startled faces until he seemed to realize that they actually had no idea how he could have overpowered his captors. "It's because they didn't consider me a threat," he explained as though it was obvious how he'd managed to turn the tables around. "They didn't even restrain me. I just had to wait for them to split up. Billy had just gone out checking out the car, so when Jason pulled me to my feet, I just had to wait until he was pointing his gun away from me and then I could take him out."

"But how?" Don interposed. He still had a hard time imagining the scene.

His little brother shrugged. "You know that I consult quite a lot. Every once in a while they make me take a self-defense class, just in case. It came in pretty handy."

Don's mouth was hanging open. "And you never thought about mentioning that?"

That gave him another shrug. "The subject never came up. Anyway, once Jason was out, I just had to wait for Billy to come back. The scariest part was threatening them with the gun while Billy restrained them both. I don't know how you can actually point this thing at people without losing your nerves. I guess that was the hardest part, not losing my nerves while keeping them in check until you showed up. Took you an awful lot of time."

Don shook his head and then, with a deep sigh, pulled his brother close to him, holding him firmly in his arms. "You never seize to amaze me, you know that?" he murmured into Charlie's curls. He relished the sensation of his living, breathing brother for another second and then relinquished his hold and stood up. He held out his hand towards him. "Come on, Secret Agent Man. Amita and Larry will be dying to see you."

\- finis -


	9. Impaired

**Disclaimer:** Only someone with a very fleeting memory could still be under the illusion that I owned Numb3rs and/or its characters (which I don't). This time, I don't even own the title, for I'm indebted to Guest for that. Thanks a lot! I hope you like what I did with it.  
 **Rating:** T  
 **Timeline:** early season 4  
 **A/N:** Please be reminded that the genre is Hurt/Comfort. This particular story is a bit more introspective, so you'll find a lot of words, but not much action going on, so please don't be disappointed. And I'm not a doctor, so please don't believe anything you're about to read. If you still can, please enjoy.

* * *

 **Impaired**

"Hey, Don, when were we going to start the briefing?"

Don glanced first at Colby, then at his wristwatch. Well, they _had been going_ to start the briefing half an hour ago or so, when Charlie would have arrived. Should have arrived. They were dealing with a series of museum thefts and they were still not clear on how the thieves were gaining access to the buildings without being seen. There had been movement detectable on the museums' surveillance footages, but they hadn't even been able to tell for sure whether or not those shadows were human bodies. That was where Charlie had come in, to try and enhance the images they had, and that was what he was supposed to show them. To have shown them, half an hour ago.

"I guess I'll give Charlie another call," he said with a sigh, trying not to let his irritation with his forgetful little genius brother show too much.

Nobody picked up, which was technically a good thing. "He seems to be on the road, so I guess we should be able to start in a couple of minutes."

Colby nodded, sighed and turned back to the more tedious task of going through the witness reports.

Don was just about to turn back to his work as well when his cell phone rang. Maybe Charlie calling him back? Nope, unless he was calling him from a landline somewhere.

"Eppes."

"Mr. Eppes," a female voice said, "I'm Susan Hellman with the UCLA Medical Center, I'm calling you because you are listed as an emergency contact for Mr. Charles Eppes."

 _What?_ Don wanted to ask, but he couldn't. His mouth was dry.

"I'm sorry to inform you that Charles has been brought here in critical condition. He's in surgery now, but there may arise the need for family consent, so we'd like to ask you to come here at once if at all possible."

He didn't understand. His mind was empty. Just the 'come here' reverberated in its hollow caverns.

"Where…" His voice was gone, too. He had to clear his throat. "Where did you say he was?" He knew she'd said it, he knew he should know where to come, but he didn't, even though he was used to paying attention and getting information the first time someone told him. What was wrong with him?

More importantly, what was wrong with Charlie?

"UCLA Medical Center. Just ask at the front desk for more detailed information, they'll be up-to-date as to his status."

 _UCLA Medical Center_ , he repeated silently as he ended the call. _UCLA Medical Center. Come here._

"Don? Everything alright? You're white as a sheet."

He looked up and was confronted with Megan's concerned eyes.

"Charlie…" he started, but his voice failed him again. Never mind. Wouldn't have known what to tell her anyway.

She frowned. "What's wrong?"

 _UCLA Medical Center. Come here._

"I have to go," he said and his body obliged and stood up. He was already leaving when he added, more to understand than to explain, "Charlie's in the hospital."

He didn't pay attention to their reactions, to the surprise and shock he could have heard in the words they called after him. He was on a mission now, his mission being the only thing that was on his mind, a mantra telling him what to do, _giving_ him something to do.

 _UCLA Medical Center. Come here._

* * *

Only when he arrived at the hospital, it occurred to him that he had to call their dad. He had to know what was going on.

What _was_ going on? He hadn't even asked, hadn't asked what had happened, hadn't managed to do anything rational or practical during the phone conversation. He swallowed. He had to step up his game. If he'd been called as Charlie's emergency contact, then Charlie needed him, and he'd have to do better than this if he hoped to be of any help to his brother.

His new resolve wasn't rewarded with any result. He did call their dad, but nobody answered. Don left a voice mail, telling him as calmly as he could to call him back, knowing that he would do it even without a semblance of urgency and not wanting to needlessly scare the man if this turned out to be harmless after all. He'd wondered if he should forward him the same information that had been given him, tell him Charlie was in the hospital, in critical condition, in surgery, but had found that he couldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to say these words, much less to their dad, much less to his voice mail.

The woman on the phone had been wrong. There was no more detailed information at the front desk, only that they mentioned a car accident. Other than that, Charlie was still in surgery. The only new information they could give him was where to find him. Or rather where to find the door behind which he was located, according to them.

All of a sudden it occurred to him that he had no proof that Charlie was really here other than what they had told him. Maybe they were wrong? Maybe it was a mistake? He ignored the question at the back of his head, the question asking how else they would have known that he was Charlie's emergency contact, and just called his brother, cherishing the hope that Charlie had just arrived at the FBI, that they had just missed each other and that they would laugh with relief and then Don would scold his little brother for not returning his calls sooner.

But nobody picked up.

A cold metal ring laid itself around Don's chest and started constricting. He tried to get in air, he gasped, but he couldn't seem to fill his lungs, couldn't breathe. His head started feeling fuzzy and he had to sit down, sat down where he was, on a hard plastic chair, and waited for it to be over.

 _He's going to be fine,_ he told himself. _He has to be. There's no other way. He's going to be fine._

He was still nauseous, the pressure on his chest cramping up his stomach as well, but after a few minutes, he recovered. _He's going to be fine._

"Agent Eppes!"

Still a bit stupefied, Don turned around and saw a young LAPD officer coming towards him. He thought he'd seen his face somewhere before, but couldn't for the life of him figure out where or when. Neither did he care at this moment.

"I'm sorry to hear about your brother. I just spoke with the other man that got injured and I was wondering if your brother was already fit for being interviewed as well. We're handling the accident investigation, you know. So, any word on him yet?"

Don was shaking his head, though not as an answer to the officer's question. Considering the turmoil his mind currently found itself in, this was decidedly too much information at a time.

"I'm sorry," the officer went on, "you don't recognize me, of course. My name's Jim O'Connor, I worked with you on a gang-related case a couple of months ago. And with your brother."

Don just nodded, thinking he knew which case the officer was talking about and not caring in the slightest.

"Accident," was the word that came out of his mouth.

The officer nodded. "Car accident. A truck ran into your brother's car from the side, driver's side. I just spoke with the trucker, they suspect a mild concussion and he's got a few bruises and he's pretty shaken-up, but otherwise alright. Apparently nodded off momentarily over the steering-wheel. So, any word on your brother yet?"

Don shook his head, this time as an answer.

"Oh. Um… okay, then," the officer said, suddenly seeming a bit nervous. "I guess I'll come back later then. Um… Bye."

Don looked after him, trying to figure out the cause of the officer's sudden nervousness. 'Bye,' he'd said. It seemed wrong somehow. What did people normally say in a situation like this? 'It was nice to see you'? But it hadn't really been nice, had it. 'Good luck'? Well, he could certainly use it, but he was also hoping he wouldn't need it. 'See you'? That would only hold if the officer actually came back to finish his report, to question Charlie. Which he could only do if Charlie survived.

Don blinked. _He's going to make it. He has to. He's going to make it. He has to…_

"Anyone here for Charles Eppes?"

Feeling both unbearably agitated and completely exhausted, Don turned around and was immediately faced with the green-clad chest of a surgeon that was a head taller than him and almost twice as large.

"I am," he said and had a hard time recognizing the hoarse voice as his own. "I'm his brother."

"I'm Dr. Crook, his surgeon."

Don automatically took the outstretched hand, but his gaze lingered on the man's chest. There were dark stains on the green cloth, red stains, obviously blood. Was it Charlie's?

 _Of course it's Charlie's. The guy just operated on him_.

Don swallowed and blinked, but couldn't take his eyes off those stains.

"I'm not going to lie to you," the surgeon said and Don closed his eyes, "it's looking pretty grim. Charles sustained a moderate traumatic brain injury, which caused intracranial swelling. The good news is that we were able to treat that fairly quickly, but we can't tell for sure how much damage was done to the brain. Other than that, Charles has a couple of bruises and cuts, most of them minor, but four of his ribs are cracked and both his left ulna and radial bone are broken. All those injuries were treated in a rather makeshift manner so far because we wanted to be minimally invasive. However, there shouldn't arise any problem from postponing setting the bones until his body will have regained enough strength to handle that. His left leg, however, presents a more serious problem. It is badly contused and it looks as if important blood vessels and nerves are damaged and under serious stress, which could have severe consequences if it isn't treated soon. We should be able to remedy that if we act quickly, that is if we perform surgery on his leg immediately. There are, however, some risks involved."

Don shook his head. "I don't understand." If they had to operate immediately, why weren't they just doing it? And if there were risks involved that made the surgery impossible, why did the surgeon feel the need to explain all this to him?

He heard his own words and only then realized what the surgeon was doing, that he was trying to make him understand, that he was explaining him Charlie's condition for one reason only, so that Don could make the decision. Apparently he was the one to decide whether his brother should have this surgery or not, he was the one who had to weigh the pros and cons against each other. They needed family consent, they'd warned him about that.

How the hell was he supposed to do this?

 _Get yourself together!,_ Don told, no, _shouted_ at himself. Charlie needed him now. He needed Don to keep a clear head, to make the right decision for him.

"The thing is," the surgeon went on, "that if we do the surgery now, your brother's body will have to handle a lot at once, and this might cause it to shut down. We're still trying to make the swelling in the brain go down because if the pressure increases, there's a high risk of brain damage, which might prove irreversible. Operating on his leg might cause the pressure to increase. On the other hand, if we don't operate on the leg soon, the tissue underneath the jammed nerves and vessels might necrotize. In the worst case scenario, this might cause an infection that could prove fatal to your brother. In the best case scenario, the swelling in the brain goes back quickly enough so that we can operate on the leg before further damage is done, in which case it should heal without permanent consequences. No matter how we are going to proceed, however, we're going to need your consent."

Don swallowed. This was it? He was supposed to make a decision based on that?

He shook his head. He knew he had to do better, he knew that Charlie needed him to make the right decision, but he couldn't. His mind was empty, there was nothing there, nothing that could help him, no orientation. He was lost.

"I need to call our dad," he said and felt like crying. He couldn't do this. He was supposed to be able to deal with this on his own, he should have been able to do this for his brother, but he couldn't. He was failing him. He could only hope that he'd finally be able to reach their dad, to hand over the responsibility to him, to burden his father with the task of making the decision, to put that burden on those broad, steady shoulders, because he, Don, was too weak to take it on.

"You can do that, but you need to do it now. Time's a critical factor."

Don nodded and stepped a few yards away to make the call.

His dad didn't pick up.

The tears came. Don allowed himself to be drowned by the emotions, but only for a couple seconds, then he pulled himself together, pulled himself out of the thick, treacherous quicksand of self-pity. His brother needed him. There was no-one else around to do this for him and not a moment to lose. He just had to shoulder the responsibility, he should be able to do that, taking responsibility was nothing new to him, so why was he making such a fuss about it? He was used to making decisions, even in critical situations, even when he had only the little information to go on that the experts provided him with, just like when he made a decision in the field and all he had was Charlie's math and his judgment. He _could_ do this, he'd _always_ managed to do this until now.

Why couldn't he do it this time?

He bit his lip. Maybe… maybe because his decision could very well make Charlie a vegetable. Or get him killed.

Don closed his eyes. _Stop it. Get your head back in the game. He needs you._

He turned back to the surgeon with new determination he didn't know where he'd summoned it up from. "So what happens if you don't do the surgery for now? How likely is that infection you were talking about?"

"That depends on how long it's going to take for the swelling in the brain to decrease far enough to make the surgery on the leg possible without putting the brain at risk. After a day or two, an infection is almost inevitable, but even then there's still hope that we can fight it. However, waiting for this long increases the risk of permanent impairment of his leg due to muscle or nerve damage. Besides, there's the risk of arterial embolism, which, if left untreated, has a mortality rate of about 30 per cent."

Don swallowed and tried not to lose his firm behavior. "And if you do the surgery? What are the odds that it will affect his brain?"

The surgeon shook his head. "I can't give you any numbers. Even as we're talking, the pressure on his brain might be going up, or down. Even without the surgery, I can't guarantee you that there won't be any brain damage, maybe even severe brain damage. All I can tell you is that with the surgery, the probability that there will be brain damage increases."

Don nodded, fighting the tears. He'd tried. He'd tried to bring himself into a position from where he could make the right decision, he'd gathered all the data and had fought hard to understand it, despite everything. However, there didn't seem to be a right decision. He could lose Charlie either way.

"Don't do the surgery," he heard himself say, and part of him was relieved. He'd made a decision. Part of him was terrified. "And please, just…" He knew it was stupid. He knew they were going to do their job, going to do the best they could, no matter what he was going to say. Still, he couldn't stop himself. "Please, take good care of him."

* * *

They were in the process of moving Charlie to the ICU when his dad called. By now it had dawned on Don. It was Thursday, his dad was helping out in the soup kitchen and he never answered his cell when he was down there. Now, he seemed to be done. Now, however, it might already be too late.

For a minute, Don just stared at the ringing device in his hand, willing the tears to stay at bay, knowing that he had to stay strong, that he had to stay positive while he delivered him the news. Still, he almost crumbled when he heard his dad's voice at the other end of the line and just wished he was here now. He would be, though, and it was that knowledge that kept Don upright. In a few minutes, he wouldn't be alone with this anymore.

After ending the call, he continued staring at his cell phone, thinking hard, though his thoughts were hardly able to pass through the troubled nerves of his brain. Still, he knew he had to make the call, he just hoped they would still be at the office.

"Don!" David greeted him after the first ring. "What's going on? What's with Charlie?"

Don was silent, looking at the doors behind which the doctors were tending to his brother's numerous and potentially fatal injuries. His throat was tight and he had to clear it. "They're moving him to the ICU." His voice was low and raspy and had lost much of its firmness.

There was some silence at the other end, maybe David was waiting for further information. In vain. "I'm sorry," David then said and after a short hesitation went on, "Is there anything we can do? Where are you, we're going to –"

"No," Don interrupted him and David fell silent. He stayed silent, so Don had some moments to make himself go on talking. "There's nothing you can do here. Even my dad and I won't be allowed to see him for long today. But I…" He hesitated, but he owed this to his brother. "I need you to do something else for me. They say it was an accident, but I…" He bit his lip. "I just need to be sure."

"Of course," David said without hesitating. "We'll look into that."

Some more silence.

"Look, Don, if there's anything else –"

"I know," Don interrupted him again, desperate to end this call. "Thanks." Without giving his friend a possibility to answer, he broke off the connection.

* * *

When Charlie had finally been settled in the ICU, his dad had already arrived. Dr. Crook had explained to them how things were going to proceed, that they could see Charlie briefly, but that afterwards, they should just go home, let him rest for the remainder of the day and come back in the morning. It had taken a while, but when Dr. Crook had pointed out that there was nothing they could do at the hospital, that they wouldn't even be allowed to see him during the night and that Charlie would need their strength over the next couple of days, they'd reluctantly consented.

They were out in the parking lot and just about to get into Don's car when a cell phone rang. Don and Alan exchanged a look. They both knew that ringtone, Charlie's ringtone. Leaning against the door to his SUV, Don reached into the bag he was carrying, the bag with Charlie's belongings, and reached for the ringing device. He sighed and accepted the call.

"Finally, I was trying to reach you!" he heard Amita's voice before he could say anything.

Don looked at his father, searching for support, for something he could say, but his dad's stature was that of an old man, his eyes downcast. No support coming from there. Don closed his eyes, drawing more strength from not seeing him.

"Amita, it's me, Don."

There was some silence at the other end.

"Where's Charlie?" she then asked and a certain wariness had entered her voice. She was a mathematician, she could put two and two together. First the missed calls, then the wrong brother on the line – it wasn't hard to figure out that something was wrong.

"He's in the hospital," Don said, opening his eyes to look back at the large building that stood brightly against the dark sky, lurking over them like the monster of a nightmare.

"What? What happened?"

Don pressed his lips together tightly as though he wanted to keep the words from coming out of the security of his mouth, out into the open where they could bring harm to so many people, including himself. But of course he knew that keeping this from her wasn't an option.

"He was in a car accident," he explained. _While he was on his way to the FBI, to present the work I asked him to do,_ he silently added.

Since he knew which questions would come – he'd heard them so often during his career – and couldn't bear hearing Amita ask them in that upset tone he hardly knew from her, he added, "A trucker crashed into him. He's…"

He paused. He didn't know how to say this. He just kept seeing the still, motionless figure in the hospital bed of the ICU that they'd just left. Don was still reluctant to think of that figure as his brother. There was hardly any resemblance. The figure had been wrapped in what seemed like tons of gauze bandages, especially the head. And the part of the face that they _had_ been able to see was bruised and swollen and cut, it hadn't looked like Charlie's face at all. The eyes were the worst part, for they had been closed and had remained closed and were just another reminder of the fact that this still figure in the bed was broken, that if it weren't for all the machines and devices it was attached to, it would open its eyes never again.

Don had been almost glad that they hadn't been allowed to stay for long.

"It's bad," he finally said, noticing that his voice was still raw and hoarse. "They say he's stable for now, but he's in the ICU and he'll stay there for at least another day. He's got… he's got a pretty nasty head injury and they're waiting for the swelling in his brain to go down until they can consider further treatment."

There were no words coming from Amita, the silence only broken by the sound of soft sobs.

"Amita –"

"Who's with him now?" she interrupted him.

Don sighed softly. "The doctors are taking care of him. Nobody's allowed to see him until tomorrow morning." He paused, but he felt he needed to be honest with her. "Actually, I'm not sure whether you'll be allowed to see him then." _Since you're not family_ , was the unspoken explanation they both heard. This was wrong. They all knew that Amita was part of this family, why shouldn't she be allowed to see Charlie just because they weren't married?

"I understand," she said and Don could hear the effort with which she tried to keep the tears out of her voice. "I'm…" She cleared her throat. "I'm going to be there nonetheless. Just please… can you tell me if… can you keep me informed?"

Don's heart actually hurt at hearing her desperate tone. "Of course."

* * *

They had been right. Amita wasn't allowed to see Charlie, but Don and his dad tried to console her saying that Charlie was sleeping most of the time anyway. He'd been in and out of it all day, mostly out, and even when he showed signs of being awake, he didn't seem to be aware of his surroundings. Luckily the doctors had warned them that would happen and that it wasn't necessarily a bad sign. Still, seeing Charlie as unresponsive as that was disturbing, especially since they still weren't clear on how severe his injuries were. Brain damage was still a possibility.

Don had arranged for a personal day. The doctors had told him that Charlie probably wouldn't be alert enough to notice his presence, because as soon as he was better, they would perform the surgery on his leg, which would put him out again. Don hadn't cared, though. He wouldn't have been able to do his job anyway, not with this sword of Damocles hanging over their heads. Besides, he was sure that Charlie could sense their presence somehow, and that it would make him fight harder.

In the afternoon, Charlie's condition had improved enough to make the surgery on the leg advisable. It had been twenty-four hours now since the accident, a lot of time during which a lot of damage could occur. So far, the doctors hadn't been able to give a prognosis.

They were still operating on him, they had been operating on him for several hours now, and Don couldn't remember a time in his life when he'd ever felt so miserable. He knew for a fact that he'd never been so scared. It felt as if there was a big lump of lead in his stomach, making him sick. What if he'd made the wrong decision yesterday? What if it was too late to perform the surgery? What if Charlie didn't make it, and it would be his fault?

The wait was agonizing, the only silver lining being that Amita was pulling herself together remarkably well. She was quiet, even subdued, but even though Don knew it was selfish, he preferred that to hysterical crying.

When Larry arrived in the evening – in contrast to Amita, he'd had commitments to uphold at CalSci today – the surgery still wasn't over. Luckily, his brooding was also quiet, save for his occasional sighs, which were bad enough. Every time Don heard him draw air in through his nose, his whole body tensed and didn't relax until Larry let his breath out again. It was like passing through a checkpoint, with each one he got closer to his destination, but he never knew whether he would live through it to see the end.

When after what seemed like ages Dr. Crook strode through the door leading to the operating rooms, all four of them stood in a single motion.

Dr. Crook held up his hands in a placating manner. "He came through the surgery fine," he told the anxious group. "There were no major complications. All we have to do now is wait and see if damage has occurred we haven't been able to diagnose so far."

Don closed his eyes and sat down, his legs feeling like rubber. He'd made it through. Charlie had made it through, he'd come out of the surgery alive and well.

He'd thought the knowledge would make him feel better. He'd thought it would make that agonizing tension go away. He could hear the relieved voices of his dad, Amita and Larry, their words not registering in his mind. He too was glad that Charlie was fine. However, he couldn't feel relieved, not yet, not while they still didn't know how badly Charlie had actually been hurt in that accident and how severe the consequences of the surgery and its delay were. It wasn't over yet and the lump of lead was still lying heavily in his stomach, still making him sick.

He needed to get some air, so he used the pretext of informing his team about the progress to get away. Since they were helping out another team and were about to participate on a raid later tonight, they were still at the FBI. When he forwarded the information, he was met with the same relief he'd experienced here, so he hurried to change the topic.

"Did you find out anything about the accident?"

"Not much so far," David said and Don was glad to hear that the relief in his voice made way to a more professional tone. "So far, forensics couldn't detect anything that points to foul play and also what we found out about the truck driver doesn't make an intentional attack likely. It seems to be what it looked like at first glance, an accident caused by fatigue. The trucker had been on the road for fourteen hours, so you should be able to press charges against him or his employer."

Don closed his eyes. He didn't care about that now, not as long as he didn't know how Charlie would come out of this.

* * *

The first thing he became aware of was a floating sensation. It was like flying, like gravity wasn't working on him, like he had no mass at all and was just filling the room without sharp contours, without being able to determine where he ended and where the rest of the world began.

It was over after only a few moments. At first there was just a tingling sensation in his whole body, uncomfortable, but not too bad. Still, he wanted to get away from it, he wanted to get this floating feeling back.

He gasped when instead of being put back into weightlessness, his body was compressed. At first, the weight was only on his chest, pressing down, cutting off his air supply, but before he could really get alarmed about that, it was pressing against his entire body, from all sides, and it was getting quite uncomfortable… ouch!, _really_ uncomfortable, it was… damn, that hurt!

He tried to fight off the weight, but found that he couldn't, it was exerting too much strength already. What on earth was that? He had to find out. But how was he supposed to find out? Everything was dark, there was –

Right. His eyes. He had to open his eyes.

He'd hardly started the effort when he closed them again tightly. This wasn't possible. It just wasn't working for him, this was decidedly too bright, there was no way he could open his eyes. His ears were starting to fail as well, there was a ringing sound in them that just wouldn't go away, he thought there was something fighting its way through the ringing, but he couldn't be sure what it was. Was it a voice? Was someone trying to talk to him? Then why wouldn't they talk louder? Why weren't they trying to drown the ringing? How was he supposed to hear them with that noise?

He flinched. Something was touching him. It was warm and soft, it felt almost hot on his skin, but that was all he could make out about that thing. He couldn't even localize where it was.

 _Why not?_ he wondered. _Shouldn't I be able to tell?_

Then he noticed that the touch had lifted the weight a bit. It was still there, still pressing down on him, still hurting him, but it wasn't as bad as before. Also the ringing became better, it was fading out, like a horrible song that was finally reaching its end.

"Charlie, can you hear me?"

So someone _was_ talking to him. The ringing was still loud enough though to keep him from figuring out whom the voice belonged to. Seemed as though he'd have to open his eyes after all.

"Can you hear me, Charlie?"

What kind of question was that? The face was hovering inches from his own, pulling up his eyelids and shining more light into his eyes, how could he _not_ hear someone so close? And more importantly, couldn't whoever that was leave him alone and stop that thing with the light?

"Charlie, I'm Dr. Crook, I'm your doctor. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Charlie blinked. His doctor? What was his doctor doing here? He asked, or he wanted to, but somehow it didn't work.

"Don't worry, it's normal that you're still a little groggy. Just concentrate on my voice and try to answer my questions as well as you can. Can you hear me?"

Not trusting his voice after that last debacle, Charlie nodded. The instant he started the movement, a burning sword sliced through his head and now there was a jackhammer trying to get it even.

"Careful with that head of yours," the voice said, "I guess it hurts quite a lot. Am I right?"

Charlie nodded again, more carefully this time. Through the slits of his eyes, the voice's shadow made a movement that could be a nod as well. "Anything else that hurts?"

Charlie didn't have to think about that. "Everything," he said, but the sound that came out of his mouth had only some distant resemblance with that word.

"Can't you give him something for the pain?" another voice asked. It seemed a bit muffled, as though there was a mountain of cotton wool between him and the speaker, but still Charlie thought it sounded somehow familiar.

"I'm sorry," the doctor answered the voice's question, although he kept addressing his words to him, "but while we assess your condition, we can't give you anything for the pain. Do you understand that?"

Charlie nodded, although he didn't really understand. What assessment? He was in pain, wasn't that enough to know? Couldn't whatever they were trying to assess wait for whatever was happening to him to get less agonizing? However, he hoped that the better he cooperated, the faster they'd be done, and the sooner he'd get some pain killers. It felt a bit like extortion, but Charlie was willing to roll with it if that only made the pain stop soon.

"Do you know where you are, Charlie?"

He tried to see more of his surroundings, but since he didn't dare opening his eyes wider, the attempt wasn't very successful. Still, he should be able to figure this out. He had to know where he was, right? He had to know why he'd gone here, he had to –

"Charlie?" the doctor pressed.

The doctor.

"Hospital?" he guessed. The word came out clearer than his previous attempts at speech, but his voice was still nothing more than a hoarse whisper.

"That's right. Do you know why you're here? Do you remember what happened?"

Charlie swallowed, summoning his strength to reply – speaking seemed so much harder than it used to be – when he realized that he didn't know the answer to that question. Why was he here? What had happened? And why on earth couldn't he remember what had happened? What was wrong with him?

"Relax," the doctor said in a voice that probably should have been be soothing, and since it was too much effort, Charlie refrained from asking him how on earth he was supposed to do that. "It's completely normal not being able to remember much after a traumatic experience, it may come back to you later," the doctor continued. "You were in an accident, Charlie, a car accident. Do you remember that?"

Charlie's breathing was still quick. A car accident? What car accident? He felt tears threaten. What was going on? Why couldn't he remember? Why couldn't it just all stop, the pain and the bright light and the interrogation, and why on earth didn't he remember what had happened?

"It's okay, Charlie, let's –"

"Argh!"

The cry of pain had been louder than anything else Charlie had uttered so far, and now the tears did come. Holding them back was useless now, he'd soon be dead anyway. He hoped.

"Where does it hurt, Charlie?"

Charlie tried to alleviate the pain, to turn around, to make _anything_ to make it less tormenting, but he couldn't. "Leg," he pressed through clenched teeth and was unable to go on, _Make it stop, oh please, make it stop…_

"Alright, Charlie, we're taking care of that, just concentrate on my voice. Can you feel this?"

Feel what? _Oh, just make it stop…_

"Charlie, can you feel this?"

"Make it stop, please," he pleaded. He was whining.

"Please, just give him something for the pain," the voice from earlier said and Charlie was so grateful that he almost spilled more tears.

"Alright, Charlie, it should be getting better fast now, and you'll probably fall asleep soon."

Charlie kept his teeth clenched and his eyes closed, trying to control the pain, not believing a word the doctor was saying. How was he supposed to sleep while someone was sawing his leg off?

"Now, Charlie, before you fall asleep, please tell me if you feel this?"

"I just feel pain," Charlie mumbled. He was slurring, he noticed. Strange. He felt tired suddenly. Had to be the exhaustion from controlling the pain.

"You don't feel anything touching your leg?"

 _What a strange question_ , Charlie thought, one of his last conscious thoughts. "Nothing's touching my leg," he slurred and then, there was nothing.

* * *

When he woke up again, it was better. It took him some moments to get his bearings, but he remembered he was in a hospital. He remembered there was a doctor and there was pain. Or there had been pain. There was still pain, but there had been more pain. It was better now.

"Hey there, Charlie," a voice said, sounding strangely familiar, and Charlie tried to find its origin. "How are you feeling?"

He found the origin. Dad. He smiled. At least he thought he did; it felt a bit strange. But then again, his father's smile seemed a bit strange, too. "Hey," he said and was taken aback by the sound of that raspy voice. Was that really his?

"Are you in pain? Your doctor should be here soon, I already pushed the call-button, but you can self-administer pain medication if you need to."

"I'm fine," that raspy voice said.

Before either of them could argue that point, he heard a door open and someone step towards his bed. The light was still a bit bright, and he still kept his eyes to slits, but at least he could keep them open for more than a second this time.

"Glad to see you're with us again, Charlie. I'm Dr. Crook, do you remember me?"

He would have never remembered the name, but he would have never forgotten that voice either. He nodded. "You're my doctor."

"Correct. Now, do you know who this man is?"

Charlie looked to where his doctor was pointing and frowned. Was this guy serious? He couldn't be meaning his dad, right?

"Charlie?" Dr. Crook prompted, and when Charlie saw the tension and fear on his father's face, he decided to do his best to answer the doctor's questions, no matter how stupid they seemed.

"My dad," he said and felt something press his hand hard. Another hand. When he followed the arm and ended up looking into his father's face again, he was quite overwhelmed to see tears in his eyes. He frowned again. What was going on? Had he said something wrong?

"That too is correct, now to make it an even three, can you also identify the last person in this room?"

Charlie was torn between explaining to the guy that three was by no means an even number and asking what last person he was referring to when a figure slowly stepped into his field of vision.

"Don," he said automatically, but shuddered at the sight. His brother's face was stony, dead-serious and even a little scary. Something had to be wrong, but what? Don seemed… he didn't really look angry, but still Charlie couldn't shake the feeling that he had made a mistake somehow, that he'd done something to get on his brother's wrong side.

The doctor's next question startled him out of his musings, but the questions kept nagging at the back of his mind. "Do you know what day it is?"

Charlie thought. The last thing he remembered was heading to Don to present his findings on that museum case, that had been Wednesday afternoon. However, judging by the light outside the window he could see behind his dad, it seemed to be afternoon right now, so it couldn't still be Wednesday, right? Still, he could hardly believe it. He had been out for an entire day?

"Thursday?" he guessed, still a bit reluctant to believe it.

"Almost," Dr. Crook said. "It's Friday, you've been out for quite some time." He didn't leave him time to process the information. "Do you remember what happened to bring you here?"

Charlie slowly shook his head, amazed by the curious sensation that gave him. He only knew he was in the hospital, Dr. Crook had said that, he'd said –

"An accident?"

Dr. Crook nodded. "You remember that?"

Charlie searched his mind. It was blank. He shook his head again. "It's what you told me earlier."

"Right. You were in a car accident, a truck ran into your car, against the driver's side. It's a good sign that you remember our earlier conversation, that means that your short term memory is apparently unimpaired. It's not unusual that our mind blocks out traumatic experiences like the accident, but since you seem to remember everything else, the facts as a whole aren't indicative of brain damage."

Charlie stared at him. Had he just said 'brain damage'?

"One of our nurses is going to perform a couple of tests with you later to make sure everything in your head is still working as before, but for now, let's stick to the rest of your injuries." He pulled back Charlie's blanket from his feet. "Can you wiggle your toes for me?"

Charlie did, trying to raise his head enough to see down, but he couldn't, there was no way he could lift his head that high. The pressure on his hand increased and when Charlie looked up into his father's face, he thought the man was fighting hard to keep the tears at bay. What was going on?

"Ouch!" he cried out, more with surprise than with pain, before he could dwell longer on that question. Something had pierced the big toe of his right foot. "Why did you do that?" he asked, a bit indignantly. Too bad he was still a little too weak for that to have any effect on the doctor.

The pressure on his hand was back and when he heard Dr. Crook sigh, there was no doubt left that something was wrong. "Can you feel this?" his doctor continued and Charlie nodded, not sure he'd be able to talk now. He was getting a bad feeling. Still, he had had no problem feeling the touch on his knee, and it hadn't even hurt this time, so maybe everything was alright after all?

"And this?" the doctor asked and Charlie wondered what he was referring to. Now, however, they had reached an area he could see from his position. The doctor had laid a hand on Charlie's knee, the left one, not the right one he'd just touched. The strange thing was that Charlie didn't feel the touch. At all.

He looked up at his doctor, fear creeping up inside him until it was filling him up completely, hoping to get some reassurance from there. In vain. The doctor's face was grim and serious.

"Charlie." The voice was serious, too, and Charlie felt his throat constrict. "In the accident, your left leg was severely injured. We didn't tend to it right away because we were afraid that your other injuries, mostly your head injury, wouldn't allow that. However, it seems that we've been waiting a little too long to take care of it. Apparently, some damage occurred to the nerves in your leg. I don't want you to lose hope yet, for it's still possible for the nerves to regenerate; we'll have to see how severely they're damaged. However, I also need you to realize that it's possible that your ability to use that leg will remain impaired."

Charlie waited, but the doctor didn't go on. He had to go on though, because there was no way he was done explaining yet, for if this was all the explanation he would get, Charlie didn't understand a thing, because all he'd understood so far was wrong, he'd just gotten it wrong. Surely he'd gotten it wrong.

"Are you saying I'm paralyzed?"

He'd been hoping for an immediate response, for an instant rectification that you couldn't say that, that even though there were symptoms of paralysis, there was still a number of possibilities to cause them, that they shouldn't jump to conclusions now, that all hope wasn't lost yet. Instead, he was faced with the earnest, thoughtful expression on his doctor's face.

"That's what it looks like," he said eventually, and Charlie closed his eyes. The room had started spinning. "While your right leg seems to be unimpaired, it looks as though you have lost both mobility and sensibility in your left one, which is indicative of nerve damage. However, you should also realize that the nerve damage isn't necessarily permanent; it is always possible for the nerves to regenerate. That is why we should act as soon as possible and find out where exactly we stand so we can start physical therapy in the hope that we'll be able to remedy the paralysis and bring you back at least some function of your leg. Even if that doesn't work, you will still need to attend physical therapy for your leg so that your muscles remain intact and don't cause any problems for the rest of your body. Do you feel up to continuing the examination and see how far the paralysis has advanced?"

Charlie just stared at him, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from spilling. True, he couldn't stand the insecurity of not knowing how much damage had been done to his leg, but there was no way he could watch the doctor poke it without feeling a thing, certainly not right now.

He avoided his doctor's earnest eyes, shutting his own and turning his head away. "I'd like to be alone right now," he managed, and he was pretty sure that it wasn't his body's weakness that was responsible for the broken tone of his voice.

* * *

"Donnie."

Don kept going.

"Donnie, stop, please."

He turned around angrily. "What?" he snapped at his father.

That made the man fall silent. But only for a second. "Where are you going?"

"Out," Don replied, heading in that direction again. His mouth twisted to something like a smile, only that there was no happiness to be found on his face. "You heard him, he wants to be alone."

"He needs to come to terms with this –"

"He's paralyzed!" Don shouted at his father, not caring in the slightest that the entire hallway was watching their confrontation. "He may never be able to walk again, how is he supposed to _ever_ come to terms with that!"

"You have to see the bright side, Donnie –"

"The bright side! He's broken, damn it! One single event and his life will never be the same! And you're telling me to look on the bright side!"

He saw the sadness in his father's eyes, the grief, and if he'd needed another reason to turn away and continue his flight, it would have been this.

* * *

The next morning, he was feeling a little better. He still couldn't quite believe that this was actually happening, that there was a good chance he would never be able to use his leg again, but things weren't looking as gloomy as they had immediately after hearing the news. One thing that had helped had been the rest of the assessment that had showed that neither his brain nor any other part of his body apart from the leg had suffered any lasting damage. What his father had said, later that afternoon, had started to sink in then: he should be lucky to be alive. He should be lucky to have gotten away like this. He could have just as well died, but he hadn't, and apart from his leg, there was no permanent damage.

At first, those words had been less than comforting. Why should he be lucky to be alive if all this had been completely unnecessary to begin with? He could have just as well arrived at the FBI completely unharmed, without having been in any accident at all. Could have, would have, should have worked in more than one direction. However, by now he realized that it did actually work into the bright direction as well. He _was_ lucky to be alive, and he _should_ be grateful to the hospital personnel and everyone else that had made that possible, and he was.

A big help in changing his perspective on things had been Amita, and also Larry's contributions had helped. They hadn't said much, probably realizing that words weren't very helpful at this point, but they'd stayed with him. He'd been irritated, he'd snapped at them, he'd let them suffer his bad mood even though they were just as unaccountable for what had happened as he was, and still they'd stayed. That had made him realize: he wasn't alone. Even though he might never be able to use his leg again, he had something much more valuable than that, he had the knowledge that he was loved and cared for. Unconditionally.

Strangely, the realization that they would stand by him no matter what, no matter how damaged he was, no matter how much he'd be dependent on their help in the future, had brought a sense of determination back to him. He wouldn't lose himself in self-pity. He could see that the situation was difficult for them as well, he could see it in their eyes, and he wouldn't make it harder for them by forcing them to lift his spirits. This wasn't the end. It was just a leg, and it wasn't even certain it wouldn't get better again. He'd fight. He wouldn't let this bring him down.

There was a knock at the door and Charlie waited for it to open, but it only did after he called out, "Come in!" Then, a very apprehensive looking Alan Eppes stood in the door for a second before hesitantly approaching his bed. "How are you feeling, son?"

Charlie felt a stab at his heart. His dad was looking so lost, so insecure, and the worst part of it was that he had every reason for that. When Larry and Amita had finally convinced him the previous evening that he should go home to get some badly needed rest, Charlie had still been… well, let's just say he hadn't been the affable person he usually was. Now, when he saw the sadness in his father's eyes, he wondered what on earth he'd been thinking. This was hard enough on all of them, not just on him, so why did he have to make everything worse by putting everyone off who was trying to make him feel better?

"I'm okay," he answered his father's question and actually managed a smile. He hesitated for a second, but he just couldn't bear seeing his father like this any longer. "Dad, I… I'm sorry, about yesterday. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."

His dad shook his head, relief evident in his features. "It's okay, Charlie, it was understandable –"

"But it wasn't right," Charlie interrupted him, something he almost never did, in an attempt to end the discussion. He was sorry, he'd apologized, and if his father forgave him, they wouldn't have to think about those unpleasant couple of hours ever again.

A hand was patting his, the same hand that had been there for him all along, and Charlie realized that forgiveness wasn't really necessary in this case, because there it was again, that magic potion: unconditional love.

"Where's Don?" he asked when he'd gotten his emotions back in check. Contrary to their dad, Don hadn't come back to his room yesterday after he'd thrown them out, and Charlie couldn't blame him for that. He just wondered how badly he'd pissed him off by his egotistical behavior. After all, if he'd gotten the story right, his family had been staying at the hospital more or less constantly since his accident, anxiously waiting for a diagnosis and for him to wake up. And when he finally had, he'd pushed them away. Well done, really.

"He went back to work today," his dad said, stepping to the window and looking outside.

Well, okay. That wasn't really a surprise, Don was a workaholic and he'd already stayed away from the office the entire two previous days just because of him. And now that they knew what the matter was, why should he continue sitting at his bedside? Besides, from today onwards, Charlie would be increasingly busy with physical therapy, so even if Don had been here, he may not have been able to spend much time with him, so why should he bother to take another personal day? It made sense, really.

Except that today was Saturday and he wouldn't have needed to go to the office, personal leave or not.

* * *

The next couple of days were a blur of all kinds of sessions, treatments and examinations, and Charlie didn't always manage to keep up his positive attitude. There were bad days, days when it seemed he got worse instead of better, days when he was so frustrated with his body, with his inability to do proper physical therapy just because his ribs or his broken arm or anything else in his broken body was in his way.

He was staying at the hospital's rehabilitation center now and had successfully convinced his dad to stop putting up a campsite here. He still visited him daily, just like Amita and Larry did, but he'd stopped spending entire days there with him, waiting for him to end a session or watching him sleep.

He slept a lot these days. Usually he didn't sleep through the night because something would always wake him, either the pain or a noise from the hallway. He slept quite a lot during the day though. Physical therapy was exhausting, not only for his body, and he usually fell asleep within minutes after a session. Often, somebody was there with him when he woke up, either his dad or Amita or Larry, and after he'd overcome a feeling akin to shame evoked by the realization that they'd watched him sleep for some time, he managed to appreciate their presence. It felt good not to be alone, it felt good to be cared for, it felt good to have someone there who understood his fears. Whenever he woke up alone, he had a hard time not getting anxious and agitated. In those instances, the fear of what was about to come, of how his life would turn out, of how or even whether he could ever get back into the life he'd once had, seemed even more paralyzing than anything in his leg.

Now it was the middle the night and it was one of those instances. He'd been at the hospital for thirteen days now and the doctors had held out the prospect of him being able to return home the next day and only going to the hospital for his sessions of physical therapy. He'd need help during that, of course. By now he'd learned to move a couple of yards in his wheelchair despite the cumbersome cast on his left arm, but for now, that wasn't a means of transport that he could rely on for a significant distance. Besides, he still needed help to get in and out of the wheelchair and any distance that wasn't on ground level was something he just couldn't do on his own.

Everyone assured him that this was going to get better, at the latest when the bones in his left arm would have healed. Right now, however, he couldn't really see it. Today's session had been bad, his ability to move seemed much more impaired than the day before, he was sore everywhere, he was in pain, and he was helpless. Besides, the prospect of being able to return home soon, as welcome as it was, had brought up a number of questions and unwelcome considerations. Returning home wouldn't mean returning to his old life. He'd need help, and he'd need for things to proceed a little differently. Still, he was adamant in his resolve to return to his job by next week's Monday, something most people told him was too soon. His mind wasn't changed, however. Tomorrow was Wednesday, two weeks after his accident, and most of its effects had abated by now. The headache was gone, at least most of the times, his ribs were hurting less and less, the bruises had faded, the cuts were healing. That was why he would be able to return home, he was getting better, so why shouldn't he be able to return to his job as well? All that was still impaired were his left arm and his left leg, and he didn't need those to explain Markov chains or the importance of fixed points for game theory. After a couple of days to recuperate at home, he would be able to make his way through the university if only he had some help to get to and from there, he was sure of that.

He sighed. There was the rub, he still needed their help, so if they considered it premature for him to go back to work, there wasn't much he could do. All he could really resort to was arguing, pleading and whining, and truth be told, he'd hoped to have left this stage a couple of decades ago.

The loss of his self-reliance was one thing to bring him down. Another thing was Don.

He sighed, the desperation inside him making its presence known more fully now. He'd done something to get on his older brother's wrong side, that much was certain, but he couldn't figure out what it was. Worse, there was a nagging suspicion in his mind that he knew exactly what it was, that it was blatantly obvious, that he just didn't want to see it. Don had been distant ever since his accident, or rather, if he could believe the accounts from his dad and his friends of Don staying at his bedside for the first two days, he'd been distant ever since Charlie had woken up, ever since it had become apparent that from now on, he'd be an invalid.

He tried to keep the tears from spilling, but it wasn't that easy. He'd been afraid this would happen, that they would let him go now that he'd become a burden. He'd been relieved, heavens, he'd been overjoyed to see that his fears were ill-founded in respect of his dad, Amita and Larry. He just had to keep looking on the bright side. Three out of four was still pretty good, right? He couldn't expect for this situation not to mess with the rest of his life, he should have expected to lose one aspect or another. The relationship with his brother was just another thing that had been broken by the accident, sad, true, but something to be expected under the circumstances and made up by the love he experienced from his other three loved ones.

A lump was filling his throat, making him nauseous, and he blinked to keep the tears from spilling. A petulant little voice somewhere inside him kept telling him that he was wrong, that Don wouldn't just abandon him like that, that he would stand by him and help him through this difficult time. He'd done the same thing when their mom had gotten sick, right?

 _But you're not Mom_ , another voice reminded him and the lump felt thicker and heavier. _Don loved Mom, of course he'd stand by her. With you…_

Charlie pressed his lips together tightly, trying not to finish the thought, trying to keep the problem at an arm's length. In the end, it didn't matter. It didn't matter why Don had decided to help their mom through her sickness, and it didn't matter how he felt about his annoying little brother, for the fact was that he wasn't part of the equation anymore. He'd made that clear enough and Charlie was smart enough to understand that and dignified enough not to come crawling after his big brother like a wounded puppy. At least they both knew where they were standing now: he was an invalid, at least for the time being, and Don wouldn't waste his time invalids. He was fine with that.

Without being able to keep himself from doing it, he thought back at the times Don had been with him these last couple of days, as though he was still hoping to find a flaw somewhere, to find the real reason for Don distancing himself from him, but all it accomplished was to make him more miserable. The bad feeling had started that first Saturday morning, when Don had gone to the office instead of stopping by at the hospital, but it had abated for some time during the weekend. Don had been there then, he'd visited him, and he hadn't even brought up the subject of Charlie's less than friendly behavior towards him and their dad.

Starting Monday, however, the bad feeling had come back with a vengeance. Don still hadn't said anything to show his disapproval for Charlie's rudeness and egotism, but his stony features that just wouldn't go away told him enough. Charlie had always found it hard to read the emotions on Don's face, usually because Don didn't let them show, and this time, it seemed worse than ever. His brother didn't show any emotion at all, his face was expressionless and all it showed was earnestness bordering on grimness. The only thing that was clear was that his brother was in a bad mood and that Charlie was the cause of it.

It had been over the course of the week that he had become aware that Don never visited him for long. Of course, his brother had a job to do, but the brevity of his visiting hours became a more significant clue when Charlie added the realization that Don avoided being alone with him, in fact, he'd never been alone with him since the accident, there was always someone with them. Due to this fact, they talked little, and by the end of the week, Charlie had figured out that Don didn't initiate conversation, at least not with him. He didn't ask him how he was, like everyone else, he didn't ask him about his sessions, in fact, he didn't ask him anything. He answered briefly when Charlie spoke to him, and whenever Don initiated conversation, he always addressed someone else in the room. So yes, Don had made it clear: he didn't want to be around him anymore, he was just fulfilling a familial duty.

Charlie, still unwilling to see the truth, had put him to the ultimate test. When this afternoon, the subject of his upcoming return home had arisen, their dad had asked Don whether he was going to be there to help during the transport. Don had looked at Charlie then, something he rarely did these days, but his look had felt uncomfortable. It had been lurking, waiting for Charlie to react, and Charlie had immediately been afraid to confirm Don's suspicions about him, to turn out the burdensome, egotistical invalid his brother thought he was.

"You don't really need his help, do you, Dad?" he'd asked his father. He knew that in fact, he didn't, they had been able to do the transition from the bed to the wheelchair and even from the wheelchair to a normal chair on their own. It _was_ easier with two healthy helpers, though. That, however, had been something he'd left for Don to decide. "I guess you'll need to go to work?" he'd therefore asked him.

Don had continued looking at him and started nodding. "Yeah, right." Then, he'd ignored him again, addressing their father instead. "I mean, you can still call me if you find it's too difficult getting him home on your own. I could surely get away for a couple of hours if you really can't manage it otherwise."

Charlie hadn't said anything after that, his throat had been closed up. So Don was really considering him nothing more than a burden. He was actually trying to get rid of him.

His throat closed up again now that he remembered the pain, the feeling of rejection, and for the first time since his accident, he cried himself to sleep.

* * *

The return home had been exhausting, but manageable even without Don's help. It had been even more difficult due to the fact that he'd had another PT session at the hospital prior to leaving, so he'd already been tired at the beginning of the ride that had become more of an expedition.

Accordingly, the ride to the hospital the next day, Thursday, for another PT session went a bit better. It also helped getting into a routine. Again and again, it hit Charlie how lucky he was that his dad was there to help him – and that he was still in good enough shape to lift him in and out of the car. Still, Charlie hadn't become entirely used to being dependent on such help yet, and he was still hoping that he wouldn't need to. His prognosis wasn't bad. There _was_ a chance he'd get back full function of his leg, and he was determined to use his chances and make the best of his situation. Or rather, he had been, right until Tuesday afternoon, the day before his return home. Now… He was still determined to try his best to get back on his feet (literally), but… something had changed. Instead of a positive determination, of a will to fight, he was filled with a much grimmer feeling, nourished by the fear to fail, to remain an invalid, a burden to everybody. To Don.

Samantha, his physical therapist, had also noticed the change. "What's going on?" she asked him in the middle of that first real ambulant session.

"Nothing," he mumbled, his face grim, his eyes avoiding hers.

She stopped the massage of his leg and stood before him with a stern look on her face, her arms crossed before her chest. "This is not going to work. If you've got something on your mind, just let it out."

Charlie, a bit more irritable since last Tuesday to begin with, sighed impatiently. "Can't we just go on with the session?"

"No," Sam said bluntly. "Not as long as you let whatever this is eat you up from the inside. The body and the soul are a unity, Charlie. You can't hope to heal the one if you're letting the other perish."

He was silent.

"Let me guess," she said, as if he had a choice. "Someone you thought was close to you has become distant with you, right?"

He was looking up at her. Had his dad mentioned something to her? Did his dad even know what was going on between him and Don? Besides, he hadn't been talking to Sam, at least not that Charlie was aware of.

"Relax," she said, laughing. "You're not my first patient. Family and friends often have a hard time getting accustomed to such a change because they're insecure how to treat you."

Charlie, completely unaffected by her laugh, shook his head. "That's not it," he said, irritated that she'd managed to make him talk. "He wasn't like that when our mom got cancer."

"So we're talking about your brother? Don, was it?"

A bit reluctantly, Charlie nodded.

"So what do you think makes him keep his distance if it isn't insecurity?"

Charlie was silent again, unwilling to tell her what he thought, what he was afraid of, that Don just didn't care about him that much.

"Why don't you just confront him?" she proposed, as though it was the easiest thing in the world. "Just be honest and open with him, tell him how you want him to treat you and show him that you're still the same."

Charlie huffed. Sam, however, wouldn't let go. She paused in her work to look him directly in the eye.

"What would you lose?" she asked. "Can it get any worse than this?"

Charlie swallowed. She was right. It couldn't get any worse.

* * *

Things had been slow today, which was a good sign for regular working hours. It was Friday afternoon and if they didn't get a new case soon, they would actually be able to enjoy their weekend. Too bad Don had no idea what to do about that. He knew their dad expected him to come over to the house, to spend some time with Charlie, but… He couldn't do that. He couldn't sit there – or worse, _stand_ there – and look at his broken little brother with the knowledge that he had caused all his suffering. He knew that his dad expected him to be there nonetheless, to offer some support, but what would that matter? Support or not, he couldn't change the past. If he had decided differently, Charlie might have walked out of the hospital on his own two feet. Now, he was a cripple.

At first, he wondered if maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, playing out the scene because he'd just been thinking about his brother, but he was almost sure that he'd just heard someone call out Charlie's name. Megan too must have heard something, she gave him a look and stood from her chair to follow him out of their cubicle.

Indeed. Charlie had come to a halt only three yards from Don's cubicle and David and Colby were greeting him euphorically. That was everybody there was in the hallway. No dad, no Larry, no Amita around to take care of him.

"What are you doing here?" Don asked him, more than a little upset. "How did you even get here?"

His brother was looking up at him now, and the smile on his face froze. "Dad drove me."

Don took a quick glance around, noticing out of the corner of his eye that his team members were glancing at each other a bit nervously and going back to work, but their dad was nowhere to be seen. How on earth could he let Charlie out of his sight even for a minute, considering how helpless he was?

"Where is he now?"

"Shopping for groceries," was Charlie's reply, and Don was sure he was joking.

"He just dropped you off here?" He couldn't have. Charlie, however, didn't look like he was joking, so the only explanation was that something had happened, something must have made their dad mad enough to just abandon his son and leave him alone at the doorsteps of the FBI. "What did you do?" The instant the question was out of his mouth, he realized that there was no answer Charlie could give him that would make this situation understandable. It was just a fact that their dad would _never_ abandon Charlie like that, no matter how much he'd gotten on his nerve. Still, Charlie was here and their dad wasn't. "Why would he do that?"

Now that he left his brother time to reply, the answer came, "Because I asked him to."

Too bad it still didn't make the situation understandable. "Why would you do that?"

Charlie's voice was firm and the look in his eyes serious, so Don wouldn't have been surprised if his brother had been about to tell him he'd just killed a guy and needed help to get out of the country. Instead he said, "Because I'd like to talk to you."

Don gave a short, slightly hysterical laugh; the relief that the reason for Charlie's being here was so simple had flooded over. At the same time, however, he almost felt like crying over the fact that his genius, mobility-impaired little brother hadn't been able to think of another way to reach his goal.

"Charlie, if you want to talk to me, just give me a call and I'll drop by at the house. You don't have to come down here for that."

"I don't?" Charlie challenged. The look in his eyes was firm and piercing, like it was trying to get inside Don's head.

Don was frowning now. What was that supposed to mean? Was Charlie saying that Don had become so unapproachable that he couldn't ask him for help even if he wanted to? Alright, so maybe he'd been a little distant these past two weeks, but only because Charlie didn't want him there, and if he had really needed him, he would have known that he just needed to call and Don would be there in an instant, right? "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying that even when you're at the house, you do your best to ignore me. You're avoiding me because you think I'm an invalid, but legwork has never been in my job description, Don. I can still help you."

His brother's words were so completely different from anything he would have expected to hear that at first, he wasn't sure that he'd heard them correctly. Then, he was fairly certain that he had, but that still didn't enable him think of a reply, because there was nothing but confusion on his mind. "I don't understand."

"What's there not to understand? I'm telling you that I can still do this, Don, that I can keep consulting for you. I _want_ to do this. I don't want to put my life on hold. I realize that I'll have to do a lot of work on that leg in the foreseeable future, but I don't want to stop doing everything else while I'm working on that. So yeah, maybe I won't be as much at your beck and call as I have been during the past few years, but you can still come to me if you need help on your cases."

Don was shaking his head. He still didn't understand.

"So… anything I could help with right now, while I'm already here?"

Sometime between now and the last time he'd seen him, his brother must have lost his mind. "Charlie – stop being silly. You just worry about your PT sessions. Sure, you've been helping us out a lot, but we've been solving cases even before you started consulting for us. And even if we do need help with something, we can still go to Larry and Amita."

If he hadn't known better, he might have thought that Charlie was about to cry. He had a look on his face that Don hadn't seen in ages, that look he used to have when Don would go to the park to play baseball with his friends and refuse his pleadings of coming with them, telling him he was too little.

"I can still do this, Don." Charlie's voice was low and controlled, although it seemed as though it was taking him a lot to keep it that way. "I'm not an invalid."

Where was that coming from? Why was Charlie so fixated on that point? "I never said you were."

"You did, with any means available short of words."

"I did not –"

"Then why are you avoiding me?"

Don kept shaking his head. "I'm not." He wasn't, was he? "I'm not avoiding you," he repeated as if that would help to make the words come true.

"Right," his brother said nodding, but everything else in his posture revealed disbelief. His voice was bitter and final when he went on and he wasn't even looking at him anymore. "You know what, forget it." With that, he turned around and rolled towards the elevators.

Don was next to him in an instant, holding him back. "Where are you going?" There was no way Charlie could leave on his own.

"Let go of me," his brother growled and it sounded almost dangerous. Don was so startled by his tone that he actually released his grip. Charlie took the opportunity and rolled on, and to Don it felt as though he was watching him step out of his life.

He couldn't let this happen.

"Charlie, wait!"

Charlie stood, but didn't turn around. Don ignored the curious glances some of his colleagues would throw at them every once in a while and swallowed. This was it then, the moment of truth.

"I'm sorry."

That made his brother turn around. He stayed silent, though, expectant. Don looked into his big brown eyes and he just couldn't hold it all inside any longer.

In an instant, he was squatting down before Charlie's wheelchair. "I'm so sorry," he repeated, his voice much lower now. "I tried to make the right decision, I really did, you have to believe me, it was just… I didn't know what to do. It didn't seem like I had a choice."

Charlie was frowning and the look in his eyes even revealed shock. He apparently hadn't expected a reaction of that kind from his brother. His voice was just as low as his brother's when he asked, "What are you talking about?"

Don was frowning, too. "The surgery, of course. I know that's why you didn't want to see me, because it's my fault that you're… Please, Charlie, you have to believe me that I would do anything to change how things turned out if I only could."

"What are you talking about?" Charlie repeated and Don noticed that the shock in his eyes had become deeper. "This wasn't your fault. None of this."

"But I decided to postpone the surgery and that's –"

"That's what may have saved my life!" Charlie interrupted him, the shock still evident on his face. "Don… you did nothing wrong. Nobody knows what would have happened if you had decided differently, but the fact is that I'm still alive today. And the leg… it's going to get better. And even if it doesn't, I can still have a life, and I can still do most of the things I used to do."

Don was still having a hard time believing the words that came out of his brother's mouth, unwilling to let himself be calmed by their content just to see his tentative hope shattered a moment later. Charlie was still looking at him with that expression of shocked disbelief, however, as though he actually thought that Don's self-accusations were misconceived.

"Alright," Don said when he realized that his brother was waiting for a response. His voice was gone though and he had to clear his throat. "Good, then. So, um…" If his brother didn't blame him, as he said, then maybe he wouldn't mind Don's company? And if he didn't, Don felt that he might actually be able to stand looking at him and at his leg. After all, Charlie had said that it wasn't his fault, right? "So how about I take you home? I should be done in a couple of minutes, so if you don't mind waiting for a bit…"

"We could do that," Charlie said, his tone wavering between insecurity and daredevilry, "but you could also show me what you're working on right now. Maybe I can think of something to ease your work."

Don eyed him warily. "You're sure about that? Isn't it a bit too much too soon?"

"Maybe. But maybe not. I'm just sure that I'd like to try."

Don still couldn't shake the feeling that this was utterly wrong. "You'll tell me as soon as it gets too much for you, right?"

The smile that spread on Charlie's face made up for all the insecurity he felt. "Promise."

* * *

Eight months later, Don sat at his desk and tried to ignore the shudders that ran down his spine. Charlie's accident was becoming a thing of the past, but every now and then, something came up to throw him back into that scary time full blast. Like today. They were investigating a human trafficking ring, which this morning had claimed its first victim. They'd apprehended one of their drivers, but only after he'd tried to run for it. He'd taken one of the ring's trucks – empty, thank God – and must have known he wouldn't get away from them in such a vehicle. Still, he'd tried, and in the process, he'd crashed into another car. The driver of the car, an elderly woman, hadn't stood a chance.

A knock made him turn around and when he saw his brother peeking over the window pane of his cubicle, he felt so relieved to see him alive and well and not crushed by tons of automobile material that it almost made him sick.

"Hey," he said, before he took a double look and stood abruptly. He didn't like what he saw, not at all, and all the anxiety he'd just felt came back with a vengeance. "What's wrong?" he asked and hurried to put a steadying hand on his brother's arm, trying to be of use to him.

Charlie sighed, rolled his eyes and gently pulled his arm out of Don's grip. "It's nothing, I'm fine."

"Then what's with the cane?!" Don was more than a little upset. Charlie's progress had been fast and relatively steady. He'd gone from the wheelchair with help to the wheelchair without help as soon as the cast on his arm had come off, then, for a brief period, he'd advanced to crutches, then to a cane and then, finally, he hadn't needed any help anymore, but had been able to use his two good legs. Every once in a while he'd start limping when he'd been tired, but that too was a thing of the past. Or so Don had thought.

"Relax," Charlie told him, still displaying a nonchalance that Don didn't think was appropriate. "I'm just a little tired. I already ran three miles today."

He was smiling proudly, but Don couldn't return the smile. "You always have to overdo it, don't you?" he reprimanded him. "Three miles… damn it, Charlie, why do you do things like that?"

The smile was still on Charlie's face, but a more serious look had crept into his eyes. "Because I can."

Don huffed. "Not if you go on like this. You should be more careful –"

"I am," Charlie interrupted him, his voice firm. "That's why I'm using the cane. I don't need it yet, but I know that if I don't use it now, the pain will be back by this afternoon. I'm just thinking ahead, Don, just taking precautions."

Don was silent, casting a doubtful look at Charlie's leg.

"Don't do that."

Don looked up into his brother's face, confused. "Do what?"

"Blaming yourself. I know that look by now, so don't try to deny it."

Don's sigh ended in a low growl and he stared at his desk, avoiding his brother's eyes.

Charlie took Megan's vacant chair and looked intently at his brother's face, apparently waiting for Don to stop ignoring him. "Don, we've been through this." They had, so Don knew what was coming, and even without looking, he could practically see Charlie count off the arguments with his fingers. "The accident wasn't your fault." That was one. Now two, "You were forced to make a decision, and it's very well possible that I'm alive today because you made the right one. And…"

He hesitated, but Don knew what was about to come, because it always came, no matter how much pain Charlie was in, no matter how exhausted he was from all the PT sessions, no matter how difficult his life was due to his impairment: he'd always assure him that he was fine, and that this was partly Don's merit. That was the part that Don never believed. He could see that Charlie was still struggling at times, even though he had to admit that his little brother was dealing remarkably well with the situation, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that maybe all his struggling wouldn't have been necessary if Don hadn't decided to postpone the surgery.

"I'm sorry."

Don's head jerked around. Huh. That was new. He hadn't expected that.

"For what?" he asked, confused again.

Now it was Charlie who avoided eye-contact, but eventually he forced himself to look back at Don. "I'm sorry that I put you in this position, in the position of having to make such a decision. I had no idea what that would do to you. I'm truly sorry for that."

Don was shaking his head, the confusion having increased. "What are you talking about? You didn't put me in any position."

"I did. I listed you as my emergency contact. If I'd just listed Dad, they wouldn't have called you and you wouldn't be struggling like this now."

"So you do regret having left something like that for me to decide."

His brother looked heavenwards and took a deep breath. "This is harder than explaining Galois theory," he mumbled, and then looked Don directly in the eye. His words were clear and accentuated when he spoke. "I have no regrets about how things turned out for me, Don. I survived, for one thing, and my body came back to full function within a couple of months. That's about as good an outcome as I could have expected. I'm healthy, and I'm fine. The only thing that still regularly manages to bring me down is watching you drown yourself in that big pool of guilt that you dug for yourself. You have to stop doing this to yourself. It makes no sense wondering what would have happened if you had decided differently. You have to let it go."

Don was frowning now, for the first time wondering if that was true, if he wasn't punishing merely himself by his accusations. "You're serious about that?" he asked. He felt suddenly insecure, something he rarely did around his brother, at least not during the last couple of years. "It… affects you how I… how I'm handling this?"

"Are you kidding? Of course it does. I can see you're hurting, and of course I want that to stop. Especially since it's completely unnecessary."

Don's frown had deepened. He'd torn his eyes away from his brother's face, intently staring into nothing, into the past where he could see his behavior in a whole different light now. He hadn't known about his brother's point of view, well, not in that extent. He'd had no idea how his guilt and his self-reproaches had affected the people around him. "I'm sorry," he said, "I had no idea –"

"Don!"

He looked up and was confronted with Charlie's stern face, his teacher face. "You're doing it again. You're blaming yourself. Stop that."

Don looked away from him again, and his eyes landed on the file he'd been working on, the picture of the elderly woman's car still lying on top, the sight still making him nauseous.

"What's that?" he heard his brother ask. His voice sounded a bit distant, even a little irritated, probably because Don was avoiding the confrontation. Funny. They hadn't tried a role reversal like that before.

He was silent, both unwilling and unable to answer. There were more important things on his mind. Like: even if Charlie was right and he should let go of his guilt, how was he supposed to do that? He couldn't just 'stop that', could he?

"Is that why you were so upset about the cane? Your case?"

Don sighed deeply. His brother just wouldn't leave it alone. "Look, every once in a while something pops up that takes me back to it, alright? There's nothing you or I can do to help that."

"I'm sorry."

Don clenched his jaw. "Not your fault." It sounded harsh, emotionless.

Charlie was silent for a while, but Don should have known that this wasn't the end of it. "I mean it, Don," his brother said, very quietly. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize how much you were hurting. You needed help and I was too busy with myself to see that. I was selfish."

Don closed his eyes and sighed again. "Charlie, for G-d's sake, you're the one who ended up in a wheelchair, so just –"

"I know," Charlie interrupted him, still sounding very solemn. "I know that I needed your help, and I'm grateful for it. But I… Look, if something like that had happened to you…" He trailed off and had to clear his throat and start anew. "Let's just say I can see how you're still affected by bad memories. I never thought about how hard this whole thing must have been on you, not really. You were always there for me, always encouraging me when things weren't going well, and all the while you were doubting and blaming yourself. I should have realized that I was asking too much of you."

"Charlie –"

"Look, I won't make the same mistake, I won't step on that guilt path and lose myself on it. But I think it's about time that you get some help, too."

Don was frowning now. "What are you saying?"

"Let's try a little role reversal. Or better yet, let's just abandon the roles. Don, please… if you're affected by what happened, if you're taken back to the accident and the hospital, just talk to me. Or to someone else, if you're not comfortable sharing it with me. But you have to stop letting this eat you up from the inside."

Okay, those were definitely not words he would have expected to come out of the mouth of his 'don't-trust-data-you-can't-mathematically-prove' brother. Charlie apparently noticed the doubtful look on his face, and a lopsided smile appeared on his. "I didn't just have physical therapy, you know. And I gotta tell you, it helps putting things into perspective. You should try it sometime."

Don was silent.

"Yeah… didn't really expect an answer. Just think about it, okay?"

Since he knew that Charlie wouldn't let go, he consented. "Okay." And maybe, just maybe, his brother was right?

"Now," Charlie said in a whole different tone, "I guess we wandered a little off-topic. Actually I just came here to ask you if you wanted to have lunch with me."

That finally made Don look up at him, right into those big, expectant brown eyes of his brother. The open eyes, with that vivid spark they owned. He just couldn't help it, he smiled, unable to remember why he'd been so down and worried just a couple of minutes ago.

"Yeah, right, why not," he heard himself say and was astounded to feel that his bad mood seemed to have dissipated into thin air.

While they made their way towards the elevators, Charlie limping a bit with his cane, avoiding putting pressure on his leg, he started one of his excited and much too eloquent math talks. "So it's still that smuggling case, right? I ran into your team downstairs and they told me you arrested one of their drivers. You know, I've been thinking about this. I could probably give you something to go on by applying some decision theory, you know, similar to that money laundering scheme last month?"

Don let a grin slowly spread on his face as he was walking there alongside his brother. He knew Charlie didn't really expect an answer, so he just got into leaning-back-mode and let him talk. Fortunately, some things would never change.

\- finis -

* * *

 **A/N:** An earlier idea for the title was "Informed Consent" (with pretty much the same story line), but I liked Guest's proposal so much better, so once again, thanks a lot. Thanks for your ideas for J, too, although I haven't decided on that one yet, so further ideas are always welcome :) I'm good for 'K' though, that's really a no-brainer. Hope I'll get that far, because time for writing is short in supply now.


	10. Jumpy

**Disclaimer:** In case you haven't realized, I don't own Numb3rs or its characters.  
 **Rating:** M, for some violence and bad language.  
 **Timeline:** Season four? Doesn't really matter.  
 **A/N:** J was very difficult for me because I wasn't able to form any meaningful J word into a full, workable story, even though Guest's proposals sounded so promising! (Thanks for those, by the way!) In the end, I settled for this and now I hope you'll enjoy.

* * *

Jumpy

Charlie yawned as he stepped out of the university building. He shivered a little, but after the stuffy computer room, the cool nocturnal air felt fresh and invigorating. Still, he was longing for his bed. It was a little after 11 p.m., it had been a long day, and yet, he knew he should feel glad that he'd managed to snatch a more or less humane time slot to use CalSci's supercomputer. His colleague, Professor Strutt from the Physics Department, who had taken the slot after him, would get even less sleep tonight than him.

At least it was worth it. At first glance, the simulations he'd just run were looking promising and they would provide him with helpful data to get a deeper understanding of the mathematical operations behind fluid dynamics for the paper he was writing.

He was taking the shortcut over campus to get to the parking lot, thinking once again that it was a little irresponsible from CalSci's administration to still not have put up more lamps here. Yeah, okay, they might think it wouldn't pay off for the few people that were around here at night – like, right now, _no one_ (except for Charlie) –, but still…

Just as the thought occurred to him, he had the distinct sensation that his assessment was incorrect. _Someone_ seemed to be here, someone other than himself, he wasn't alone on campus. Now he was almost sure he could hear footsteps behind himself, but the other person seemed cautious not to make a sound.

Charlie licked his lips, they were suddenly dry. Whoever was behind him had to be able to see and hear him, so why weren't they just calling out a greeting to him? They were two academics on an almost empty university's campus, greeting someone you met wouldn't be too weird. And even if the other person thought it'd be weird, why would he or she be so careful and avoid making their presence known?

His body tensed and his steps quickened ever so slightly as he got closer to the parking lot. He could already see it and he could hear that the other person was still a couple of yards behind. He forced himself to remain calm. Whatever this was, panic wouldn't help him. Either it would make a fool of him or it would deter him from reacting properly. He just had to react properly, to be prepared, and not let the other one know that he was.

When Charlie reached the parking lot, he noticed that the steps had come closer. The other one was walking slightly faster than him – and still much more quietly. There was no doubt left in Charlie's mind: whoever this was, he or she was trying to get close to him without him noticing, and Charlie couldn't think of a reason for that which didn't mean harm for him.

He suppressed a curse when he realized how offside he'd parked his car. It could be seen neither from the street nor from the university – and the parking lot itself was empty. Yet, there was no going back now and still there was the soft glimmer of hope that maybe he'd get into his car without an incident.

Before he could do that, however, the attack came.

Charlie had just reached the door of his car when the stranger jumped him from behind. The man had taken two or three quick and large steps to close up to him and was now grabbing him firmly, one arm pressed around Charlie's left arm and chest, the other hand covering his mouth.

Charlie, however, had been waiting for something like that, and was prepared. He'd mentally gone through a series of self-defense moves he'd learned over the years during his various consulting gigs and had thought of a strategy how to get his attacker off his back, literally. Now, the moment to act was there, and Charlie didn't hesitate: he rammed his elbow into the other man's sternum and immediately heard a reassuring gasp. An instant later, he'd freed himself out of the other man's grip and reversed their roles so that it was now him holding the other man down. He had him on the ground, his arms in his back, Charlie's knees on the other man's legs and his back, and only now did he feel safe enough to try and get to the bottom of this matter.

"What was that?" Charlie hissed. He was so angry he felt like shouting, but the adrenaline pumping through his body made him so shaky that he didn't trust his voice right now. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"Damn it, Charlie," the other man wheezed, trying to turn around and face him. "Stop this, it's me, Freddy!"

For a moment, Charlie was so dumbfounded that he didn't react at all. Then, when he realized he was still holding his friend down, he hastily scrambled to his feet and helped him to get up as well.

"Oh my –," he started, but the shock was making his speech less than eloquent. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?" His hands were hovering over the other man's body, afraid to inflict on him even more harm than he already had.

"Been around the feds too much, haven't you," Freddy grumbled, still gasping a little and rubbing his upper arms.

"Look, Freddy, I'm so sorry –"

Freddy waved his apology aside with a gesture of his hand. "Nah, I probably shouldn't have sneaked up on you like that. Couldn't know you've had some private lessons with Jackie Chan though." He laughed nervously, then glanced around and lowered his voice, "Seriously though, we need to talk."

Charlie swallowed and nodded, confusion now adding to the shock.

Only when they sat in Charlie's car with the doors locked did Freddy start talking. "We've got a problem," he said. "You got Amanda's email?"

Charlie shook his head. "I haven't heard from her since –"

"She sent it this afternoon, you must have gotten it."

"I haven't checked my –"

"Well, I have," Freddy interrupted him again, "I found it this evening. I went by her house, but the police was already there. Home invasion. She and her husband are dead."

The words echoed in Charlie's mind, not making any sense. This was all too fast. Just a couple of minutes ago, all his problems had revolved around Navier-Stokes equations and now… Amanda –

"I don't understand." Only when the words were out did he realize that he was whispering.

"They killed her. I'm sure of it."

Charlie shook his head. He had a feeling whom Freddy might be referring to by 'they', but he couldn't, because they wouldn't –

"Who?" he asked, his voice still raspy, still hardly audible in the quiet parking lot.

"The moles, of course!" Freddy hissed. "The moles in the FBI!"

Charlie closed his eyes. He could feel that his hands had started shaking. He'd been afraid Freddy would say that, but he'd been hoping… it just wasn't possible… They were the FBI, damn it!

He ran his trembling hands over his face and forced himself to approach this matter rationally, logically, step by step.

It had all started a couple of weeks ago, when Amanda, Freddy and him had been hired to consult on a top secret FBI case. The three of them hadn't worked together before, but had immediately gotten along well despite the age difference – both Freddy and Amanda had a good twenty years on Charlie. Amanda specialized in computers in general and specifically in operating large data flows, and Freddy, had substantial knowledge both in informatics and in mathematics and thus served as a link between Charlie and Amanda, who were responsible for the actual carrying out of the data gathering and the analyses.

The case had been a nasty one, concerning corruption – corruption by a federal agent. They had analyzed the framework data of the agent's communication – like when and how often did he call a certain number or write an email to a specific address. It had soon become apparent that the data was ambiguous, but in order to get behind the matter, they had had to analyze _all_ the FBI's framework data. With some filter algorithms Charlie had inserted, they had managed to do that, but the result hadn't exactly been what they'd expected. They had been able to tell that the agent in question was indeed presenting with an abnormal communication pattern – but he hadn't been the only one. There had been more inconsistencies in the network, indicating that there might be other moles, maybe even outside the FBI, with other law enforcement agencies, but since aside from that one agent's data no other data had been personalized, they hadn't been able to tell which other agents showed the same communication pattern as their mole – that is, which other agents might be corrupted as well.

They had presented these more than a little troubling results to their person of contact a week ago and hadn't heard from them since. They'd said they would probably get in touch with them once they decided how to approach the matter, and when Charlie hadn't heard back from them, he had assumed that they still didn't know how to find the moles within their own organization without having the culprits know of the investigation, or that they had simply decided that they didn't need the scientists' further help to do that. By now, the initial shock of their revelation had passed for Charlie, and truth be told, he'd thought they were already handling the matter quietly and discretely.

Now, however, he wasn't so sure.

"Why would they kill Amanda?" he asked, trying not to jump to conclusions. So they didn't know how their employers had dealt with the moles and now one of their team was dead – but that could just be a coincidence.

"Well, I don't know," Freddy said, but his tone told Charlie that there was more to come. "I can tell you however that it looks as though she wanted to make further inquiries into the matter. She said in her email that the three of us should meet and besides, she called me yesterday and asked if I had heard from Jenkins or the others, and when I said that I hadn't, she told me that she was afraid they might be trying to cover this up."

"It's a current investigation," Charlie shared knowledge he'd often heard from Don, "they'll have their reasons for not telling us what they're doing to apprehend the moles."

"If they are doing anything to apprehend them."

Charlie frowned. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that if Jenkins is one of the moles, he'll have other interests."

Charlie stared at him. "He's not."

"That's what I told Amanda and she didn't believe me and now she's dead! Now can you give me another explanation for that other than Jenkins killing off the one person that was seeing through his scheme?!"

"Yeah, I can!" Charlie shouted back. "It was what it looks like, Freddy, a home invasion! The thing with the FBI is just a coincidence!"

Freddy snorted. "You don't actually believe that!"

Charlie was silent, still breathing hard from his outburst. He knew that what he'd said was a viable explanation, that Amanda's violent death at that point of time didn't necessarily mean foul play committed by the FBI. Too bad that Freddy was right: he didn't believe that.

He ran his hands over his face again. He was starting to feel a little clammy. He had to maintain a clear head though. If Freddy was right, if Amanda had been right, they needed to plan their course of action carefully if they didn't want to end up dead like her. The only problem was that careful planning required a clear head and he didn't have that right now.

He took a deep sigh and made a decision. "Alright, look, I'm gonna talk to my brother. Right now. You know he's with the FBI, he'll know what to do."

Freddy was silent for a second. "Are you sure you want to do that?"

Charlie frowned again and couldn't help but feel a twitch of anger. "If you're trying to insinuate he may be one of the moles –"

"I'm not," Freddy interrupted him. "I'm trying to insinuate one of his superiors may be one of the moles. I mean, let's say you tell him, what's he supposed to do? He can't make this matter official without risking alerting the wrong people, and in that case you and I can just as well start digging our graves, and him probably too."

Charlie swallowed. He hadn't thought of that. "Still…" he started, his voice thin, but didn't finish the sentence. He knew that Don might still be able to help them, they could certainly use his knowledge about the FBI, about investigating techniques and about all that legal stuff – but he also knew that he couldn't ask him. If they were right and Amanda had been killed because of her connection to this case, there was no way he could drag Don into this, nor anyone else. He and Freddy would have to do this on their own.

Just then, another thought occurred to him and his eyes widened with shock. "We need to be careful," he said, his voice only a whisper now.

There was a huffing sound beside him. "No kidding. I wasn't –"

"That's not what I mean," Charlie cut him off, a little irritated, impatient. "They didn't just kill Amanda, they also killed her husband!"

"Yeah, but only because he got in their way. He was just collateral damage."

Charlie clenched his teeth and locked eyes with Freddy. "Exactly." There was confusion in Freddy's eyes, so he went on, "They're ruthless. They don't refrain from collateral damage. So we have to make sure that…" His voice was gone and he had to clear his throat to get it back. "That if they kill us, there won't be any collateral damage. I think you shouldn't spend too much time with your wife or your son the next couple of days, nor with anyone else for that matter, and neither should I."

Now Freddy's eyes went wide as well. "Right," he nodded, and he too had to clear his throat to get his voice back. "Right." He paused. "But… what are we going to do? We can't just wait until they kill us, too."

Charlie shook his head. "They probably don't know that we're suspecting something. I mean, I wouldn't have asked further questions about that matter if you hadn't told me about Amanda, and I probably wouldn't have heard about her death so fast either."

"So what, you just want to let them get away with this?"

Charlie swallowed. That certainly would have been the easier way. They couldn't do that though. "We won't let that happen, but we need to buy time in order to figure out who the other moles are. Once we know that, we can show our results to people that we know we can trust and that have the necessary power to put the moles behind bars. I should still be able to access the data you and Amanda gathered, and maybe I can find some further clues to personalize the moles' communication data."

Freddy nodded. "Sounds like a plan," he said and Charlie was a little startled when a moment later, a heavy hand was lying on his shoulder. "You let me know if there's anything I can do to help with the analysis or with gathering the additional data you need. Until then, take good care of yourself, my friend."

Charlie nodded, not trusting his voice right now. He knew that Freddy had wanted to sound reassuring, but all Charlie had been able to hear in his voice had been fear.

* * *

Amita was a bit torn between laughing and crying when she stepped into Charlie's office the next morning. It was no news to her that he was a workaholic, but she'd thought he'd at least understood that it was sensible to separate his workspace from the place where he slept. On the other hand, he looked immensely cute with his head resting on his arms, his upper body covering all the free space of his desk plus some more. And he looked extremely funny when he jumped from his chair, awakened by her sudden appearance. She couldn't help but smile.

"Amita! Geez…" He rubbed his face with his hands and seemed to be trying to get his bearings. "You startled me."

"No kidding," she said, but that was when her smile vanished. "Did you sleep here?" she asked, concern and reproach mingling in her voice.

"Um…" he answered and apparently had to look back at his latest sleeping place to come up with the correct answer. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

She frowned. "Why? I thought you were going home after you were done with the supercomputer?"

"Yeah, um…" He cleared his throat and busied himself with getting the documents on his desk back in order. "I just had to see if I could really work with the data, you know." He made a waving gesture directed at his head. "I had that… you know, that idea in my head and I just had to see if it worked."

"And did it?"

He looked up at her, his face blank. "Huh?"

Her frown became deeper. "That idea you had. Did it work?"

"Oh." Understanding crossed his face. "Oh. Um, no. No, I guess I'll have to stick to my original approach. But the data's looking promising."

She nodded, not sure what was going on with him. All she was sure of was that _something_ was up. If it had been anyone else but Charlie, she might even have suspected that he was cheating on her.

"Listen, I'm sorry, but I really should go over my notes for my first seminar this morning once more, so…"

Before he had to say it, she interrupted him. "I'll leave you to that, then." She waited, but there was no reaction from him, so she turned towards the door. When she'd reached it, however, she faced him again, unable to hold back any longer, "Is there something wrong, Charlie?"

Those big brown eyes were looking at her as if she'd actually asked him whether he'd cheated on her. "Why should – No, I mean… I just didn't sleep that well, that's all."

She looked at him for a second, decided that his explanation sounded reasonable enough, and forced herself to smile. "Alright. See you later, then."

* * *

Charlie hesitated for a moment before he got onto the elevator. As the doors of the cage slid shut behind him, he closed his eyes. He could feel that his whole body was being shaken by tiny tremors and it made him wonder what on earth he was doing here. This was enemy territory. If they were right, there was a good chance that Amanda's killers were currently beneath the same roof as him. This was insane. The moles had killed already, what made him think that he was safe here? On the other hand, if they didn't realize that Freddy and him knew just as much as Amanda had known, what better way was there to make them believe he had no idea of what was going on than going straight into the lion's den, the FBI headquarters?

Before he could analyze further whether his presence here was a brilliant move or just plain stupid, he'd reached the floor that housed Don's office and hurried to get out. He was prepared badly and needed a couple of more minutes to get his results into a more presentable form. If Amita hadn't asked him about Don's case earlier, he might have forgotten about it altogether. As it was, he'd rushed the analysis he'd started the day before, the analysis of the account transactions of a prominent but shady businessman, but still he was reasonably certain that it was sound.

"Hey, buddy, just set up in the conference room, we'll be there in a minute."

Charlie gave his brother a brief nod and hastened to get into the room, away from the people-filled bullpen. He'd never realized how much movement there was constantly going on here, how many agents there were going about – and how little he knew of them, how little he could trust them.

He took in a shaky breath and told himself to calm down. Nobody was going to attack him here, not with all the agents around. They were talking of a small group of moles within an organization consisting of agents that were full of integrity. No one would dare to openly commit a crime among them. Ironically, the lion's den might very well be the safest place for him to be right now.

* * *

When Don entered the conference room, Charlie was typing at his laptop with a velocity he could only describe as a breakneck speed even though Don realized that it would have been an incredibly ambitious endeavor to try and break one's neck while typing. Charlie's activity, however, came to a sudden stop as soon as Don opened the door, for he gave a violent start, which sent the papers next to his laptop flying to the ground – luckily just the papers and not the laptop.

"Hey," Don greeted and watched his little brother hastily gather the files. "Still busy? I thought you said you'd be done by now."

"Yeah," Charlie mumbled, "just some finishing touches."

Don watched for another minute, filled yet again with amazement at seeing his brother's abilities, before David entered the room. Again, Charlie's head jerked up violently at the noise, and he managed just barely not to wipe anything off the table. As he went back to work, David, with a raised eye-brow in Charlie's direction, gave Don an update. He wasn't done yet when the door opened again and Colby joined them. This time, Charlie even let loose a small cry.

Don shook his head, a little embarrassed by his brother's behavior. "Seriously, Charlie, get a grip on yourself, or the next one coming through that door is gonna give you a heart attack."

He was distracted for a moment by David's and Colby's badly suppressed chuckles, so when he looked back at his brother, he was a bit taken aback to see the pinched expression on his face. He frowned. He knew that Charlie was usually a good sport, otherwise he would have never made such a comment, at least not in front of his coworkers. This time, however, Charlie's face could be described as anything but cheerful. Was there something wrong?

Well, he'd have to see about that later.

"So explain this again," he asked, his tone more professional now, "what is it you did?"

While he tried (with adequate success) to follow Charlie's explanations, he took in his brother's appearance more attentively than before. He noticed that Charlie, usually a bundle of good mood and hardly bearable exuberance, was much more subdued today, and very serious. His presentation of the results he'd found was dry and technical, without the analogies he usually made up for them out of thin air. The effect the lack of visualization had on the agents was worsened by Charlie's lack of the enthusiasm he normally showed whenever he tried to explain to someone the wonders of math.

When Charlie had finished presenting his results and Don had assigned tasks to his team members, he stayed a little behind as they left the conference room, stepping closer to the desk where Charlie was just packing up his laptop.

"Look, Charlie," he started and was suddenly feeling a little nervous, "you know I was just messing with you earlier, right, about your jumpiness." Charlie didn't react, so he went on, "Seriously though, are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine," came the mumbled reply. He still wasn't looking up.

Don eyed him warily. Charlie looked pale, he decided, and kind of beat. Maybe that was it? Maybe it was that simple? "Something wrong? Did you have a bad night or something?"

 _Bingo_ , the thought shot through his mind, but he was surprised that it didn't fill him with more satisfaction. Charlie's head had come up, his big brown eyes looking at him widely, so that had to mean he'd guessed right, right? But the look in his eyes was still inscrutable, so Don still couldn't be sure what was wrong with him.

"Did Amita say something to you?"

 _Oh, shit_. That was exactly why they never had those heart-to-heart talks. Knowing that his little brother had a sex life at all was perfectly sufficient for Don, he didn't need to know any details and he most certainly didn't need to get caught up in the middle of a lovers' quarrel.

"I didn't even talk to Amita today," he said quickly and turned towards the door, trying to get away from this conversation as soon as possible.

When he reached it, however, he paused, biting his lip. He did _so_ not want to get into the middle of this, but truth be told, Charlie looked awful. Could his solution really be to turn away from him and just pretend he hadn't noticed a thing?

He sighed and turned back around. "Look, buddy, you know if you want to talk about anything, I'm here for you, right?"

 _Please say 'no',_ he silently begged, trying to get a glimpse of Charlie's face to determine his chances of getting out of this without further incident. Surely his brother would know better than to ask _him_ of all people for advice in the love compartment?

Charlie, however, once more managed to surprise him. He didn't even consider Don's proposal, but just pulled the strap of his bag over his head and threw a mumbled "Yeah, I know" over his shoulder as he strode out of the door past him, making the words sound very much like the 'no' Don had been hoping for.

As he watched Charlie's retreating back, Don wished his brother would have said 'yes'.

* * *

It was already a little late – almost 9 p.m. – when Don arrived at his childhood home. He'd gone home after work and had tried to distract himself by watching a game on the TV. In the end, however, he'd had to realize that Charlie's strange behavior from this afternoon and his own less than optimal approach to the matter were still on his mind and just wouldn't vanish from there, not until he got to the bottom of this – even if it meant dealing with Charlie's and Amita's relationship problems.

He headed straight to the garage, then halted. When he'd turned into the driveway, he'd been almost certain that he'd seen light there, but now, the windows were dark. Had he been mistaken? Or had Charlie simply just now finished his work for the day? If the latter was the case, that was good news, for it would increase Charlie's willingness of talking about whatever was going on with him.

As he drew nearer, he noticed that there was no sound coming out of the garage, and he could feel his hackles raise just slightly. At the same time, he was aware that this was stupid, that there was no reason to be apprehensive of going into Charlie's garage.

He stepped into the dark room and that was the moment when his assessment was seriously challenged. There was a noise behind him, someone had been waiting for him behind the door, but before Don could turn around, arms were put around his upper body, a hand was covering his face, probably trying to stifle a cry Don didn't have the quickness of mind to utter, and a foot pulled his legs away from under him. Don fell, but by now, his reflexes had kicked in, and he wasn't going down alone. His attacker was going down with him, and while they were falling on the hard cement floor, Don managed to reverse their roles and come up on top. An instant later, his attacker was lying on his stomach, Don on top of him, pulling the other man's arms behind on his back hard –

Oh shit.

For a second, Don was still, like a pillar of salt, but then it broke out of him all the more forcefully. "What the hell?! What was that? What were you thinking?!"

The curly head beneath him turned sideways, trying to get into a more comfortable position, but Don wouldn't let him. His first impulse when he'd realized that he'd been fighting with none other than his own little brother had been to jump off him right away, but since he sat on him a little twisted, he hadn't managed to do so that quickly. Then, he'd changed his mind. The damage had been done, he could at least get something useful out of it now, so before he could release Charlie of his grip, his little brother had to understand that he could so not pull a stunt like that.

"I heard someone outside and thought you might be a burglar or something. Now would you please let me get up?"

The hell he would. "And your solution to surprising a burglar is jumping at him? Do you have any idea how dumb that is? What if he'd had a weapon? Or if he hadn't been alone? Huh? Did you ever stop to think about that? And they keep saying you're a genius!" His words came out harsh and angry, and he knew it. He didn't care, though, not about that.

Charlie was silent, which Don was taking as a sign that his message was getting through. He wasn't quite done yet, though. He tightened his grip a bit and leaned in closer to Charlie's ear. "Look, it's nice you know those self-defense moves, but that's what they are: _defense_ moves. Don't you ever dare use them unless you absolutely have to. And in any case, don't you dare use them against an agent ever again, for I have to tell you, we have years of training that brings rather unfortunate reflexes with it. This could have ended a lot worse for you."

With that, he was reasonably certain that Charlie had gotten the message, and stood, carefully, trying not to inflict more pain on him than he already had.

"What's wrong with you lately?" he then asked, confusion and worry being the dominant emotions in his voice now, while he quickly checked if everything in his body was still working as it should. The only thing off he could feel was a bruise on his knee where he'd hit the ground, but that would probably be gone by the morning.

His brother's soft moan as he got back on his feet made it obvious that he too had gotten his share.

"Are you okay?"

Now that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he could see that Charlie was carefully rubbing his shoulders and arms. Maybe he'd pulled them back a little too hard after all? In any case, it didn't seem like a good sign that his brother wasn't looking at him. Or talking to him.

Don bit his lip. "Charlie, are you okay?"

"Yeah," the reply came as a mumble and at the same time, Charlie was about to push his way past him.

Don wouldn't let him. He held him back, trying not to use too much force. "Look, Charlie, I didn't mean to hurt you –"

"Let go of me."

Don shuddered. Charlie's voice was quiet, technically not threatening at all – and come on, this was _Charlie_ they were talking about. Still, there was a coldness in that voice, something dismissive that Don had hardly ever heard before, not with his gentle, warm-hearted little brother.

He shook his head. "Charlie, come on, you know I didn't hurt you on purpose. On the contrary, I only came here tonight because you seemed a little off earlier and I wanted –"

But his brother had freed himself with a jerk. "Just leave me alone."

Don was so shocked by his tone that he actually let him go, watching him enter his car and drive away. He shuddered, again. Charlie's voice had still been deliberately void of emotion, as much as Charlie's voice could be void of emotion, but it had still held… Don wasn't sure what it was. He just knew it wasn't anger, something he could have lived with after what had just happened. No, what he'd heard in that voice had been different, it had held… Charlie hadn't sounded belligerent. Don was unwilling to admit to what he thought he had heard in that voice, what his own most recent actions had caused Charlie to feel, but the two words kept coming back to him, leaving less doubt about their accuracy the more he thought about it: sad. Charlie had sounded sad. And even worse, he had sounded scared.

* * *

Don was drumming his fingers impatiently. They were about to start the briefing, but they still weren't complete. However, Don had the nagging suspicion that they were as complete as they would get today, for ever since last night, he'd been afraid that Charlie would choose to avoid him.

He sighed heavily, trying to ignore the feeling of sadness that was descending upon him. It was no use, Charlie wasn't going to come, they should just get started instead of wasting time waiting for him.

"Alright guys, let's –" He hadn't finished the sentence yet when the door whooshed open.

"Sorry I'm late," a slightly disheveled Charlie mumbled and instantly started to set up his laptop.

Don was sitting upright in his chair by now, trying to mute the feeling of relief for the moment, trying to get a good look at Charlie's face first, to establish eye-contact with him, to find out whether things between them were okay again. His attempt was futile.

"Alright," he said and had to clear his throat before he could go on, "so David, what did you find out about that ex-wife?"

He was having a hard time concentrating on the reports his team members gave him, because he was still trying to wordlessly communicate with Charlie. His brother, however, continued avoiding making eye-contact with him. Not a good sign.

The premonition was confirmed when it was Charlie's turn to present his newest results, and Don felt his heart sink. Charlie's explanation was as technical as the day before, only briefer. He knew that his team members had noticed by now that something was off as well, he could feel it in the looks they gave both Charlie and himself. Charlie, on the other hand, seemed completely unaware of that, either that or he just didn't care.

"So do you have any questions or was that it?" he ended his presentation. Without giving them time to reply, he added, "I should really get back to CalSci."

A bit stupefied by the sudden change of topic, Don nodded. "Yeah, sure. Thanks, Charlie," he added, trying one last time to get a glimpse of his brother's expressive eyes. In vain. _So_ not a good sign.

Don sighed, forcing his mind back to work and trying to remember certain details of the presentation Charlie had just given them. He couldn't. He only remembered the main ideas.

He sighed again, more heavily. There was no more denying it, something was wrong, and something was broken between him and his brother, and they couldn't just continue to pretend that there wasn't. They had to fix this, whatever this was.

Too bad Don had no idea how to do that.

* * *

Charlie stepped out of the university's building and shivered. The night air was cool, but instead of the vigor that it had made him feel only two nights earlier, all that it made him feel now was vulnerable. He didn't feel empowered, but rather impotent, and he didn't feel alive, but rather like a dead man walking.

He'd been working on the analysis of the communication data and a network analysis to determine the moles' identities in every spare minute, and now he was beat. He'd caught himself wandering off with his thoughts and making stupid mistakes he wouldn't even tolerate if his sophomores made them. There was no more denying it, he needed a break. Yet he was reluctant to leave. He knew he almost had it. He only needed some further information, some key pieces in the puzzle, and he'd have it, he could see it. However, it was just as clear to him that he wouldn't find those key pieces tonight, certainly not given the state his mind was in right now. Going home was the right decision.

The thought of home filled him with such longing that it made it difficult for him to breathe, and for a moment, he felt so much relief that he'd be able to spend the night at home tonight that he almost felt bad about it. For his father's sake, he'd spent the past two nights in his office, afraid someone might attack them both in their house at night otherwise, similar to what they'd done to Amanda. However, since this afternoon his dad had left to visit his sister in San Francisco and would stay there for a couple of days, he'd finally be able to sleep in his own bed again tonight. That was the thought that gave him the strength he needed to keep his eyes open and to get to his car.

This time, he'd parked a little offside on purpose, trying to avoid collateral damage in case they decided to put a bomb on his car. He shuddered at the thought, but by now, the fear had become constant. At this point, there was no more shocking him. Or so he'd thought.

It came without warning. Suddenly, there were strong arms around him, holding him firm. He wanted to scream, to make himself noticed, to do _something_ , but a hand was covering his mouth, keeping his head as firmly in place as the rest of his body.

Save for his legs. When that realization hit him, he didn't hesitate. The first two kicks were futile, but before his aggressor could really react, Charlie had started thinking again. He had to do this right, he couldn't fight headless, he needed to work with both force and precision. Don had told him that countless times.

By now he'd become aware that there were two of them, one holding his arms in place, the other one covering his mouth. That was the one that would be the target of his counter-attack. So with the third kick, Charlie made sure to gather as much momentum as he could, and to aim his kick where he hoped it would hurt most, at the side of his aggressor's knee. An instant later, his move was rewarded. There was a howl and the hold of his head was relinquished. Without hesitating, Charlie put his head forward as far as he could and swiftly swung it backwards, against the face of his second attacker. Another howl told him he'd landed a hit, but he couldn't cherish it. The arms were still keeping him firmly in place, but right now, that probably wasn't such a bad idea, for after the heavy blow against the back of his head, he'd started to feel a little dizzy.

"You little piece of shit!" a muffled voice behind him cursed and before Charlie knew what was happening, he was lying on his back. His arms were free now, his attacker had released his grip, but before Charlie could use his new-found freedom, his head exploded with white light, and before he realized what was happening, another blow hit him and another –

"Stop that!" he heard someone say, although it sounded strangely far away.

"That son of a bitch broke my nose!"

"Stop it, now!" the first voice repeated and the world around Charlie cleared a little. His head still didn't feel quite right, and by now his face had started burning as well. His thoughts however had cleared up enough for him to realize that his second aggressor, the one that had been holding his arms in place, had taken revenge for the blow against his nose with a couple of fist blows to Charlie's own face. He could taste blood, a metallic taste that made him feel nauseous, and he had to fight hard the urge to just let himself float away into oblivion. He had to keep fighting, though. He had to get away from them, there was no way he could let them –

He heard a soft moan and only a second later realized that he had emanated it himself. He was trying to roll on his side, to get up and run away, but he couldn't. It took him a little while to notice that someone was sitting on him, pressing his arms against his own body once more, this time using his legs for that.

"Stop that," the second voice hissed, the angry one, and Charlie choked when an arm was pressed hard against his throat. He gasped, or he wanted to, but he couldn't, there was no air, he was going to suffocate –

"What are you doing?" the first voice sounded again, though it didn't seem real somehow, and the pressure was taken away. Charlie coughed, spitting out some blood in the process, and finally gave up the fight against oblivion.

* * *

He awoke from a bang the volume of which made him think of a nuclear disaster. It took him a while to get his bearings, also because this place didn't seem familiar at all. Then, however, when another bang split his head, he realized that it was a car door. _His_ car door, to be exact. He was lying on the back seat of his own car while his two aggressors had made themselves comfortable on the front seats.

"I think he's waking up," someone said. It was the first voice, the one that had stopped the other one from beating him up. The one that may have very well saved his life.

"Then make sure he doesn't try anything hinky again," the second voice growled.

The next moment, something stabbed Charlie's side. He tried getting away, but he couldn't move, he tried to fend the thing off, but he couldn't, he couldn't move his arms.

He was bound.

The second he realized that, panic set in and he fought against his bonds vehemently. The sting in his side became more vicious and then there was that first voice again, though ice cold now. "Stop it, or I'll pull the trigger. At this angle the bullet will rip apart your guts and you'll bleed to death, so I'd think twice about putting up a fight if I were you."

Only when the words registered in his brain did Charlie realize what the stinging thing in his side was, and he froze. A gun. Someone was pointing a gun at him, and that someone wasn't afraid of using it.

He shuddered, at the same time berating himself for that. He shouldn't move now. He shouldn't make a move, he shouldn't do anything to irritate his aggressors.

"There. That's so much better this way."

"Which doesn't mean he can't still shoot you, you little brat," the second voice growled.

"Just shut up, will you."

"He broke my nose."

"He didn't. It's not even bleeding."

"Still –"

"Quiet," the first voice said in a tone that didn't leave any room for negotiation.

Charlie had listened to the dispute silently, his heart racing in his chest, his head still swimming. He was starting to feel sick again and wondered if there was something he could do to get himself in a more comfortable position, but he couldn't find a way that wouldn't turn his aggressors' attention and thus the gun back towards him, so he just lay there silently, taking shallow breaths and waiting for a miracle to happen.

* * *

The ride seemed endless, but judging from where it ended, Charlie realized they couldn't have gone for more than ten minutes. Still his arms had started to go numb and were tingling uncomfortably, resisting against the tight bounds. By now Charlie had realized they had used a lashing strap which they had tied firmly around his whole upper torso, including his arms. At least it didn't cut into his flesh. He should probably start being grateful for small things like that.

As the thought occurred, the fear was back with a vengeance. He still didn't know what they were planning to do with him, but it was fairly obvious that their intentions weren't good ones. Neither was it hard to guess what their motive was. But if they were the same people who had killed Amanda, then why wasn't he dead already? What were they planning to do with him?

And how on earth was he supposed to stop them?

Before he could dwell longer on that question, the car doors were jerked open and he was pulled roughly to his feet. Stars were dancing in front of his eyes, and the dizziness didn't get better from the rough handling he got as they pulled him forwards.

He shivered. He was cold, they were on a bridge, and the wind was freezing. For a moment, he considered crying out for help, but then he remembered the gun. It would have been useless anyway. He knew that bridge, it had been declared liable to collapse a couple of years ago and ever since then, the whole stretch of the road had been abandoned. The only people that still came here were hikers and suicides.

"Finally," a voice greeted them, and Charlie felt his blood run cold. Jenkins. Freddy had been right, Jenkins, their go-to-man on finding that first mole, had been one of them.

He lifted his head a little, trying to look at him, still hoping that he was mistaken, or better yet, that this was all just a bad, really bad dream. If it had been a dream, however, Jenkins' angry voice would have surely woken him up.

"Are you out of your minds? Which of you idiots did that?!"

"He was fighting back! What was I supposed to do, let him run?"

"He's a math professor! How hard can it be to overpower a math professor!"

"I told you he was fighting back! You would have done the same thing!"

"I certainly would have made sure not to bash up his face! What are we supposed to do now? Doesn't make a suicide that plausible a scenario, don't you think?"

"It could have happened when he landed –"

"It couldn't, and you know it! The bruises already formed and you know just as well as I do that if anything points to foul play, Eppes won't stop looking until he's got it all figured out!"

Charlie was shivering more violently now, but knew that it had little to do with the wind, just as he knew that the queasy feeling in his stomach had little to do with the blows he'd taken earlier. They hadn't come to Suicide Bridge by accident. They had come here because they'd been planning on throwing him down there. They had wanted to kill him.

Probably still wanted to do that.

Panic set in and before he knew it, he was running, headless, not knowing which direction he should –

 _Ouch_.

The blow from behind hit him hard in his back, taking his breath away, and an instant later, he was hitting the floor even harder. The weight of the body on top of him was pressing him down, cutting off his air supply, and he tried to get away, tried to get somewhere else, but he couldn't, there was no way out –

"Nice try," Jenkins said. Even turning his head, Charlie still couldn't see his face, all he could see was that he was kneeling next to him. "Got almost three yards. Think that was worth it?"

 _Yes!_ , Charlie wanted to shout at him, because at this point, every attempt to get away from them was worth it.

As the thought crossed his mind, he couldn't hold the tears back. There was no more denying it, this was it. They would kill him, if not by throwing him over the bridge, they'd find another method. They still had the gun. But they couldn't do that, they just _couldn't_ , and something inside him kept fighting against the idea that this should really be the end.

"Let him up," Jenkins said, the weight was lifted from Charlie and he was pulled to his feet. Strong hands were gripping his arms so tightly that it hurt. They weren't taking any risks now, he realized that. That also meant that he'd blown the one chance he'd had. He bit his lip, fighting the tears again.

Jenkins approached him slowly, and even though Charlie knew it was stupid, that he was choosing between the devil and the deep blue sea, he shrank back from him, stumbling against the man that was holding him.

"There, there," Jenkins said, grasping Charlie's chin. He tried to turn his head, tried to get away from him, but he knew it was hopeless. "I'm sorry about the inconvenience my friends caused you, Professor," he taunted, a false smile on his lips. "Actually, we'd just like to have a little chat with you." Charlie turned his head, looking Jenkins directly in the eye now. If they really wanted to have a 'chat', if they wanted information, all wasn't lost yet, there was still hope, albeit a slim one.

"We'd like to know whom you told about the little project you're working on."

Charlie's heart was beating in his chest wildly and maybe it was those quakes that rendered his voice so tremulous. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do know what we're talking about. Don't try to trick us, Professor, you can rest assured that we watched you closely enough to know what you've been doing. By the way, I wouldn't have thought it'd be that easy to get access to your office."

Charlie swallowed. If that was true, if they'd been inside his office, if they'd seen his work, they knew he was onto them, and especially Jenkins knew that he was on the top of his list of suspects. He still couldn't place the other two, but now that he'd seen their faces, finding out their names and then putting the rest of the puzzle pieces in place would be easy.

Not that it mattered now.

 _Stop it_ , he told himself. _All isn't lost yet. Keep fighting. Don't give up hope._

 _Easier said than done_ , another voice argued, a very rational sounding one. Charlie told it to shut up and tried concentrating on the other voice, the more optimistic one. Which was easer said than done.

"I'm still waiting, Professor," Jenkins said, emphasizing his words by the sound of his gun being cocked.

For a moment, Charlie thought he was going to pass out there and then, but his mind hadn't stopped working yet. "You can't shoot me," he said and was surprised at how firm his voice sounded. It was low and raspy, but it hardly revealed anything of the fear that was paralyzing his entire body.

"Trust me, Professor, I'm very confident I can shoot you, certainly from this distance."

"You said it yourself," Charlie argued and so hoped they still hadn't changed their plans. He stopped himself short before going on, keeping himself from mentioning Don's name, trying not to make this about him. One never knew. "They're going to investigate if it doesn't look like a clean-cut suicide. You can't risk that."

Jenkins made a sound that almost resembled a laugh. "Not that stupid, are you?" He paused. "You're right. But fortunately for us, we don't have to try to make this look like a suicide, not in your special case. You already did all the work for us by making a lot of enemies among the criminal lot. We can always make it look like it was one of them that tortured you, be it to get some information or simply to take revenge."

Charlie felt hot, feeling like he was going to pass out again. Something was wrong with his ears, too, and he'd stopped hearing anything after the word 'tortured'.

"Take him a couple of yards inside the forest and bind him to a tree," was the next thing he heard Jenkins say, the words still sounding as they were travelling to him through a dark, long tunnel. "We're going to meet back here at six and we're all going to do some research until then. We need to find someone who'd torture and kill him, and we need to find out as much about their methods as we can. And don't forget any equipment we might need for that. This has to look convincing, you know Eppes."

It was as though Charlie had stopped being a part of this world. He could still hear the words, he could feel the hands on his body, the moss and the twigs under his feet, but he'd stopped being able to take part in anything that was going on. He realized that it was the fear paralyzing him, but there still wasn't anything he could do to change that.

It was only when he heard the doors of Jenkins' car slam that his mind started working again and the fog of panic started to lift a little. He started shaking now under the lashing strap, and despite everything, it felt good to _feel_ again.

"I have to do something," he whispered, not caring that he was talking to himself. He had bigger problems at hand. "I need to get away."

 _We're going to meet back here at six_ , Jenkins' voice reverberated in his mind, and panic almost took hold of him again. He couldn't let it, though. If they were back at six, that still gave him almost seven hours. He just had to use that time wisely, and he couldn't afford to lose a second.

Nervously and hastily, he extended his fingers so they could touch the forest floor. He just needed a stone, no matter how small, all he needed was something sharp –

There. He'd found it, but in his agitation, his fingers fumbled uselessly and he lost it again.

"Damn it!" he cursed and almost let himself be overcome by the tears again. He couldn't do that though.

"Get a grip on yourself," he said, then heard Don say the words, his tone a mixture of teasing and exasperation. "Get a grip on yourself," he repeated, his voice only a whisper now, the words becoming the mantra he needed to keep himself from losing his mind.

He found the stone again, it was back in his fingers, and before he got busy with the next step in his plan, he paused. "You gotta do this right," he told himself. He was back to Don's fighting rules again, equal amounts of force and precision. The stone in his hand was small, but still he thought he could work through the strap if he only did this right, if he continuously weakened the material in one spot until it would tear apart. Little strokes felled big oaks.

He leaned his head back against the tree and started carving. His fingers started cramping up only after minutes, but he knew he couldn't stop. He had to get this done, he had to, he just had to…

* * *

Don awoke from the sound of gravel scrunching in the driveway. That had to be Charlie coming home. He rubbed his face, trying to wake up more fully, and silently cursed himself for falling asleep in the first place. His initial plan had been to wait for Charlie to come home so he could finally confront him about what was going on with him, but apparently, the couch had been a little too comfortable for that plan. When he hit the light button of his wristwatch, however, he realized that the couch wasn't the only one to blame, his brother was just as culpable. What sane person returned home from work at three in the morning?

While Don was still digesting the news that it was the middle of the night, he heard a key turn in the lock. He sat himself upright, preparing for battle.

"Do you always work so late?" he said as a greeting when the door had fallen shut.

There was a gasp coming from the entrance and a bang as though someone had stumbled backwards against the door, and it was then that Don realized that he had no reason to think that Charlie had just returned from work. Given their most recent talk about Amita, wasn't it at least conceivable that he hadn't been working but rather… doing something more fun?

Don mentally shook his head. Charlie wouldn't do that. Right? Or would he? After all, what did he know about his brother? Not much, apparently. All he knew was that he had become an enigma lately, an enigma, on top of it, that was apparently mortally afraid of him, and he didn't like it one bit.

Consequently, he couldn't disguise his irritation when he said, "Damn it, Charlie, you'll have to stop that stupid habit of jumping at every noise, especially at your own house." He paused, but then, the words came out of his mouth on their own account. "Or are you suddenly afraid of me?"

He was waiting, tense, afraid to know the answer and unwilling to hear him confirm it. There was no sound coming from his brother though except for his shallow, rapid breathing, and Don was getting enough of this. "Charlie, come on –" he started as he switched the light on and then stopped abruptly.

For a moment, he was so shocked he couldn't say anything. He just stared at his brother, taking in the sight that was making him sick, yet unable to avert his eyes.

His brother looked awful. The left side of his face was swollen and there was dried blood under his nose and at the corner of his mouth. There even seemed to be bruises forming on his neck. His appearance was disheveled, his clothes were dirty and there was a tear in the sleeve of his jacket. The jacket was dark, but still Don thought he could see a stain upon it, just around the tear, so the most natural explanation for that stain was blood, Charlie's blood. The worst part, however, was the haunted look in Charlie's eyes.

"Charlie, what the…" Don started, but only got the words out when he tried a second time. "What happened to you?"

He could see his brother's Adam's apple bounce when he swallowed, just as he could see the heavy rising and falling of his ribcage as he breathed. His voice was thin when he answered, small. "Nothing."

"Nothing?!" It burst out of Don. "Charlie…" He almost choked on his brother's name. He didn't know what to say, he only knew that this definitely wasn't 'nothing'. "Who did this to you?"

The Adam's apple bounced again and Charlie cast down his eyes. "Please Don, just… You need to leave me alone. Please."

That plea was too much for him to take. "I think we can safely say that I have left you alone far too long already!" He realized that his voice sounded hysterical, and that he was shouting, but he didn't manage to feel regret about that. All he could really feel right now was pain from seeing his little brother like this.

"Look", Charlie said and had to clear his throat, but even when his voice came back, it was thin and tremulous. "I can't do this with you right now. I can't tell you what's going on and I can't tell you why I can't tell you, but you just have to trust me. Please." Those big brown eyes were staring at him, imploring him, still holding that panic that also manifested itself in that desperate tone of his voice, in those rapid, shallow breaths, in the trembling of his hands… "I really need to do this on my own, I can't tell you why or what this is about, but if I don't –"

He was rambling, his voice getting more broken with every word he said, and Don could take it no longer. "It's okay, Charlie," he said quietly, making that last step forward that separated them and taking his brother in his arms, holding him tight. For an anxious moment he waited, wondering how Charlie would react, and was filled with relief when he felt his brother's fingers gripping his back as though his life depended on it. He let out the breath he was holding and put a hand in Charlie's curls, guiding his little brother's head against his own shoulder and listening to his shallow breaths, waiting for his breathing to calm down.

"It's okay," he whispered in his brother's curls, soothing him, just talking, saying words he didn't know where they were coming from. "I'm here. It's okay now. I won't let anything happen to you."

The breathing against his chest had become slower, but Don didn't relinquish his hold. Only when Charlie eventually freed himself did he let go of him.

He let his arms hang loosely at his side, fighting the urge to put his hands back on his brother's shoulders, to be there for him, to make sure he was alright. When Charlie looked up at him, however, he almost stumbled backwards, the firm look on his brother's face hitting him completely unexpected.

"I need to figure something out," he said, his voice still not quite as firm as the look in his eyes, and Don frowned. Charlie couldn't mean what he thought he meant, right? "Maybe I can tell you then. But first, I need to… I need to get something done. And you can't be here while I'm doing that."

Don shook his head. "You can't be serious."

His brother was silent.

He couldn't help it, he was angry. "Are you actually trying to suggest that I leave you alone so you can _work_?"

"It's just –"

"You must be out of your mind!" Don interrupted him, not wanting to hear his brother's reasons. "What I should be doing is getting you to a hospital, or at least making sure that you get some sleep! I sure as hell won't let you _work_ in the state you're in!"

Charlie seemed completely unperturbed by his anger. The look in his eyes was still firm, his jaw was set. His voice, while still low, was hard when he said, "Then leave."

For a moment, it was so quiet they could have heard a pin drop. Maybe that was it. Maybe something was wrong with Don's ears.

"What?"

"Leave," his brother repeated, and now there could be no doubt he had heard right. "Get out of my house."

Don was back to shaking his head. "Forget it," he said, still dumbfounded. Charlie couldn't be serious.

Or maybe he could. "This is my house," he said. His voice was still trembling, but his tone was firm enough. "If I tell you to leave, you have to leave, otherwise you're trespassing."

"Charlie –"

"I need to work. I need to get this done. Now."

He was still shaking his head as though that could make the weird things that were happening in his mind go away. "No way." He saw Charlie open his mouth, but he wouldn't let him continue uttering such non-sense. "There's no way I can leave you alone right now. You're hurt. You just…" He hesitated, then realized he didn't know what to say. "Well, I don't know what just happened to you, which is bad enough, but the fact is I can't leave you alone. You may even have inner injuries that just haven't presented with symptoms yet. Or a head injury." _In fact, that seems to be a given seeing the way you're acting_ , he felt like adding, but swallowed the words down.

"I'm fine," Charlie claimed. "Just leave. Please."

So Charlie was resorting to begging now. Wouldn't change Don's mind either though, not this time. "Or what? You're gonna call the cops?" He was fairly certain his brother wouldn't do that to him. Fairly. Tonight, however, anything seemed possible.

For the first time since they'd started their argument, Charlie averted his eyes. Don saw him biting his lip and told himself not to feel pity for him. He couldn't give in to him, not with this, for Charlie's own sake.

"I don't have time for this," Charlie said, his voice lower now, less firm, more desperate. "Please, Don. Maybe when I'm done I can tell you, but right now, I really need to do this –"

"You know I won't leave."

Charlie looked at him closely, obviously making a decision. "A compromise, then. You can stay, but you need to stay upstairs while I'm doing what I have to get done."

Don opened his mouth, but Charlie's resolve was back. "All I need is thirty minutes, Don. That's all I'm asking." Don's resolve was wavering, and Charlie inflicted the final blow on it: that pleading look with his dark, expressive eyes. "Please."

Don felt himself nod, against better judgment. "You call me if you need my help or if you start feeling worse," he heard himself say, telling himself that after all, it was just thirty minutes. He could leave his brother alone for thirty minutes. He could do that. Charlie would be much more willing to get himself checked out by a doctor once he'd let him do that.

Charlie nodded and Don was confronted with the feeling that for the first time in a very long while, he'd lost an argument against his brother.

* * *

He had been listening closely to every noise he heard from downstairs, so when the typing stopped and he thought he could hear a deep sigh, he decided that it was time to get back down, even though he'd been waiting for just short of eighteen minutes instead of thirty. Still, it was only when he was on the stairs that he dared making a sound, and it was then that Charlie's head jerked around towards him. The next moment, his brother closed his eyes and put his hands against the couch he was sitting on, obviously having a hard time to keep himself upright.

Don quickened his steps and was down in the living room in an instant. "You okay?" he asked and was sitting next to him a moment later. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just a little dizzy," his brother said, and Don didn't like his mumbling tone at all. He was even slurring the words a little. "Just turned my head too quickly, I guess."

He still had his eyes closed and Don grasped the opportunity to study his face more closely. The bruises had become more prominent, or at least so it seemed to Don, and the lines of pain on his forehead seemed to have become deeper. In any case, Charlie was looking the worse for the wear.

"We should really get you to a hospital," he said quietly while at the same time he was wondering if he shouldn't just let him sleep.

Charlie, once more, had ideas of his own. "We can't do that," he said, his eyes open now, the lines on his forehead deeper than ever. "We need to go to the FBI."

Okay, that was enough. "Just stop it now, would you!"

When Charlie flinched, closing his eyes again, Don knew he'd gone too far, but hell, why was his brother insisting on being so pig-headed!

He ran his hand over his face, walking off his anger, realizing only now that he was standing. He was just about to explain to Charlie that there was no way he would let him have his way further when he heard him say, "There are moles in the FBI."

Don felt as though someone had ducked his head in ice water. "What?"

"They keep forwarding information, to drug lords, to the mob… I just put together the last pieces. We need to go to the A.D. I just finished the analysis, he's not compromised."

Don shook his head again. It seemed to be more and more often the appropriate reaction to his brother's words. "Charlie… you're not thinking straight, buddy. You should probably just lie down for a while."

"Fine," his brother said, his language a bit clearer now, accentuated by irritation. "I'm gong alone then."

He stood, swaying badly. Don was next to him in an instant, grabbing both his upper arms firmly and fighting the urge to shake him. "Okay, Charlie, listen to me, you're –"

"You listen to me! They killed a colleague of mine! They tried to kill me, too! They're still trying to kill me!"

Once the words were out, he closed his eyes again, leaning against Don more heavily. "Woah, Charlie, slow down," Don said, his voice low, not sure what he should think of this and deciding that he first had to make sure his brother wasn't going to pass out before he could get to the bottom of this.

"Easy there, buddy," he said quietly, guiding his brother back down to a sitting position on the couch. "Just breathe, okay? In, and out." Charlie nodded slightly, which Don was taking as a good sign. He gave him some more seconds, fighting hard to keep his agitation at bay. "Better now?" he then asked.

Charlie nodded. "Just felt a little dizzy for a moment. I'm fine now, and we should really get going –"

"Slow down," Don cut him off. "Explain this to me first. What were you saying? What colleague of yours? And who tried to kill you?" Surely his brother had been exaggerating with that point… right? There was no way someone had just tried to kill him. No way.

"Look, I can't explain everything right now, but we need to get –"

"Just explain to me why I can't just take you to a hospital and we can call the A.D. from there," Don said, considering his solution a compromise they could both very well live with.

Charlie, however, once more seemed to be of a different opinion. "Because they're still trying to do away with me," he said, and Don started getting an uneasy feeling that maybe, he hadn't just chosen his words lightly earlier. Still he had a hard time imagining it. Someone had tried… they had tried to kill Charlie? "They said they would come back at six and when they do and realize I'm not there, they're going to come here and if we're still here, they might try again and if you get in their way they won't refrain from hurting you too, and I can't –"

This was still going much too fast for Don, but by now he'd realized that Charlie was serious, that _this situation_ was serious, deadly serious. "Shh, Charlie, calm down, just calm down," he interrupted him again, afraid his brother might hyperventilate. "I got it, alright? I get it now. I'll…" He stopped short. He'd been meaning to tell Charlie to let him sort this out, to let him take him to the hospital and just wait there until Don had notified his superiors. Now, however, he realized he couldn't do that. If what Charlie was telling him was true, and he had no intention of taking his words lightly, there was no way he could leave him alone, not for a minute. They still had to tell the right people though, and as long as this matter wasn't dealt with, he needed to ensure Charlie's safety. The place he could do that best, in fact the only place where he felt confident he could do that, was the place Charlie had been wanting to go all along.

He took a deep breath. "We're going to the FBI. Right now, okay?" He gave his brother's arms a tight squeeze. "Don't you worry. I'm gonna take care of everything."

* * *

One of the merits of Don's boss, A.D. Jeremy Woods, was his timing for when it was better to ask further questions and when a matter was so serious that there was no time to lose. Accordingly, he'd agreed to seeing them instantly, and thus it was four thirty in the morning when the three of them sat in Woods' office and Don heard the whole story for the first time. He fought hard not to constantly stare at his little brother, or to blurt out asking him why on earth he hadn't considered it necessary to tell him that for the past few days he'd been living in constant fear of being liquidated by Don's coworkers.

Woods, while no expert in data flows or network analyses, was competent enough to understand the data itself that Charlie's work pinpointed, the evidence of the corrupted agents' clandestine behavior. After he'd viewed it, he was silent for almost a full minute.

"You're sure –" he then started to ask, but stopped himself short. There was no reason to ask. He'd seen the evidence. "And you're confident there aren't any others?" he asked instead, as though five moles in one organization wouldn't have been bad enough.

Charlie nodded slowly. "Speaking for this office: yes. I was able to match all the inconsistencies we found in the data to one of the five agents I designated. But of course I can't say if they're connected to corrupted agents in other FBI offices, or in other agencies."

Woods sighed. "Of course not," he said, sounding very tired, and Don suspected that the early hour had little to do with that. "But we have to take one step at a time." He looked at his watch. It was almost five now, so there wasn't a minute to lose. "I'm going to send a team to that bridge you said they left you right now. Let's hope they didn't change their plans. In the meanwhile, we're going to try and pick up the other two at their respective homes." He turned towards Don. "I'm assuming you want to be part of one of these operations, but I can only consent to that if I'm confident you'll be able to keep your personal feelings in check."

Don swallowed. It was true he would have loved to make sure that those traitors got what they deserved, but he had other priorities right now. "Actually, Sir, I was thinking that as long as this matter isn't cleared up, we shouldn't take any risks concerning my brother's safety." He could feel two pairs of eyes scrutinizing him, but he didn't care. Someone had tried to kill Charlie tonight, and as long as there was still someone out there with that agenda on his mind, Don sure as hell wouldn't let him out of his sight.

"Of course," Woods said. "What are you suggesting?"

"I'm going to stay with him in one of the conference rooms for now, until they're apprehended. If something goes wrong during the arrests though and they manage to escape, we should try to get him to a safe house. In that case we'll also need to contact one of the hospitals to get a doctor there. He needs medical attention."

"Don –"

Don, however, had had enough arguing for one morning. "He seems to be having a concussion," he therefore passed over his brother's protest, directing his words more at him than at his supervisor, "which shouldn't be taken lightly."

Woods nodded. "Of course not." He gave Charlie an appraising look. "Are you okay with that course of action, Dr. Eppes? Or do you need medical attention right away?"

"I'm fine, Sir."

Woods nodded again. "Alright. Thank you for your work, Dr. Eppes, Agent Eppes." As he shook their hands, he added towards Don, "I'll keep you informed."

The two brothers made their way downstairs to the conference room in silence. There was hardly anyone here at this hour and Don was grateful for that. Charlie probably too: less people meant less noise, and he'd meant what he'd said earlier. He was fairly certain Charlie had a concussion, the dizziness being just as obvious an indicator as the headache and the nausea he'd admitted to having when they'd driven here.

Another indicator for how badly Charlie was feeling was the lack of protest as Don helped him settle in the most comfortable office chair he could find, bringing him into a leaning back position with his legs raised upon another chair. Charlie had his eyes closed and Don was watching him attentively, thinking with a sick feeling in his stomach of how close he'd come to losing him tonight.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly.

Charlie nodded slightly, keeping his eyes closed. "It's a lot better this way, lying down."

Don bit his lip. In fact, he'd meant more Charlie's mental state than his physical one, but now that Charlie had dodged the question, inadvertently or not, he didn't dare asking a second time. After all, Charlie knew that if he wanted to talk, Don was there for him, right?

So why had he been silent about this matter for two whole days?

And yet, the signs had all been there. Now, in hindsight, Charlie's weird behavior made sense, so perfectly in fact that Don wondered why he hadn't realized sooner what was going on. How on earth was it possible that he hadn't realized that his little brother had been afraid for his life all this time?

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked softly, but got no answer. Charlie had fallen asleep.

He leaned back with a sigh, watching him sleep and praying that the arrests would go smoothly so that they could start to clear up everything those bastards had messed up, starting with Charlie's physical and mental well-being. One thing was certain: once the moles stopped presenting a risk to Charlie, there wasn't anything or anybody that could stop Don from driving him straight to the hospital.

It was seven o'clock in the morning when he got the call from Woods that initiated the decline of the tension that had been building up inside him, "We got them."

* * *

Don swallowed before he carefully opened the door to his brother's room. He'd just spoken with his doctor and wasn't sure whether he should be worried or relieved by his report. True, he'd said that they expected no further complications, that they were keeping Charlie here only for observation, but on the other hand, they were planning on keeping him not only for the whole remainder of the day, but also overnight. And when Don thought back to his own concussion, a few years back… well, let's just say it was something he'd rather do without.

The room was darkened and quiet, Charlie being the only patient in there, his health insurance finally paying off. Don knew that his brother needed rest – the doctor had been quite adamant about that point – but he also knew that there was no way he could leave him alone, not after what he'd been through last night.

He'd thought that Charlie was sleeping, but as he closed the door, the curly head turned in his direction. For a moment, Don just stood there, feeling a little as if he'd been caught with his hands in the cookie jar. "Hey," he eventually found his voice again.

"Hey," came the soft answer from the bed, sounding tired.

"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly, keeping his voice low.

"Okay," Charlie said. "Better," he added, still much softer and slower than he normally spoke. "Still got the headache though."

Don gave him a commiserating smile. "I'm afraid that's probably not going to go away for quite a while."

"Thanks for lifting my spirits."

Don bit his lip. Why did he always have to make matters worse? "Charlie, I'm –"

"Relax," his brother interrupted him. "Just kidding."

Oh. Okay. Things couldn't be too bad then.

However, there was still one thing he had to say that probably wouldn't lift Charlie's spirits either. "Listen," he began, dragging a chair to Charlie's bed without making a noise and sitting down, "I couldn't reach Dad so far. I'm going to try again later and I'm sure he'll come at once as soon as he learns about what happened, but I guess he and Aunt Sarah went out this morning and he didn't take his cell with him and I… well, I just didn't want to explain this in a voice mail."

Charlie frowned. "Do we really have to tell him? I mean now? Can't we just wait until he comes back? It's only two more days and you know how he's going to freak out if you call him to tell him about… well, this."

Now, it was Don's turn to frown. "I just thought… Well, I thought you might want him here. You know…" He trailed off, not knowing how to say this. He only knew that Charlie had just gone through a traumatic experience and that he himself always drew comfort from being with his dad and Charlie whenever the world seemed to be crushing down upon him. He'd thought Charlie would need their dad's support now a hundred times worse.

"Oh. Right," his brother said, his words coming out a bit clearer now, although he still sounded a little tired. "I forgot you have to get back to work. I'm sorry, I guess I'm still not thinking straight." He tried for a little smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe you could see if you can get a hold of Amita, or Larry? Just… I mean, it just would be nice not to be stuck in here alone all day."

Don looked at his brother closely, noticing the fear in his eyes, and let out a small sigh. "You really think I would leave you alone after what happened last night?"

Charlie didn't say anything and just looked back at him, the fear still there in his eyes, mingling with hope now. Don suppressed the urge of biting his lip, trying to keep the question of how his brother could think he would do that at an arm's length. "Well, I guess that conclusively proves that those blows actually made you a little soft in the head, for otherwise you would have known that the probability for that to happen is practically non-existent, as you would say."

He could see that Charlie was fighting the urge to smile. Well, that was at least something. "I would never say that."

"Oh yeah, you would. You know what, I don't even know why I'm arguing with you about this, seeing that you're not even legally sane right now."

"Jerk."

"Yup, legally insane, thanks for proving my point."

Charlie gave him a smile now, but it was obvious that he was still in pain. He was supposed to sleep, and Don knew it. Why couldn't he just shut up and let his brother have the rest he needed?

He gave his leg a squeeze. "You know what, you just try and get some rest now, okay? You look like you need it."

"And you?"

"I'm gonna stay right here." In the moment before Charlie cast down his eyes, Don could detect a glimmer of pure gratitude in them that told him he'd finally done something right. Still, it was obvious that Charlie was embarrassed by the situation, so he tried going two for two. "After all, someone needs to chat up your nurses. And to fend off the reporters."

The eyes were back, as was the smile. "Right."

Don paused. True, he'd been saying that in jest, but actually he thought that reporters were a very real possibility in Charlie's immediate future. "Sorry to break this to you, buddy, but I didn't say that ironically. At least not the part with the reporters." He gave his brother a fond look, who still didn't seem convinced. "I mean, you do realize what you did there, right? You single-handedly found five moles in one of the most powerful agencies of this country, if not the world."

"Amanda –" Charlie tried to argue, but Don wouldn't let him.

"Or _almost_ single-handedly," he corrected himself. "Still, I hope you realize that this is pretty big. This is a good thing you did there Charlie, and it required a damn lot of guts." He saw the corners of Charlie's mouth twitch and he thought he even reddened a bit. There was still something he had to say, though, he just didn't know how. Now that he'd apparently managed to make Charlie feel a little better, he didn't want to dampen the mood again. He didn't want him to think that he was angry, for he wasn't, not really, so he delivered his next words with a teasing tone, "Next time you decide to uncover one of the biggest scandals of the year though, just talk to me first, okay?"

Charlie gave him a look that was completely inscrutable. Then he said, "No."

Don's eye-brows had gone up. Teasing or not, this was still serious, so Charlie had better not be messing with him. "I beg your pardon?"

That serious look was still there when he explained, "It wasn't like I just forgot to tell you, Don. I made a choice. I chose not to endanger you and I don't think that I'm going to decide differently if a problem like that ever presents itself again."

"But –"

"No 'buts'," Charlie interrupted him, his voice more determined now than tired. "Just imagine you would have been in my place. Are you really trying to tell me you would have acted differently?"

Don almost laughed. If the situation hadn't been so serious, he might very well have called it ridiculous. "Come on, you can't compare that, I'm an agent –"

"That's irrelevant," Charlie interrupted him, again. "You're my brother, that's all that matters in this case." He paused. When he spoke again, his tone was even more serious. "I couldn't have borne if anything had happened to you, especially if something had happened to you because of me." He looked his brother directly in the eye, almost solemn. "Do you understand that?"

 _No, because you're not making any sense!_ Don meant to shout at him, but something held him back. Charlie couldn't be serious. He had decided to go through all this on his own just because he'd been worried about _him_? That was… there was something not right about this. It wasn't supposed to be this way round. After all, Don could name dozens of instances off the top of his head when he'd been wondering whether he could really ask his little brother for his help, afraid his work might put him in harm's way. Charlie was the one having been put at risk by Don, by his job and by the fact that he'd pulled him into that. Don's only consolation with this situation was that Charlie hadn't been hurt so far, not seriously, not while working for him. For this time he'd put himself in harm's way very much on his own account, and it made Don feel so relieved it almost made him sick, for if this had been a case for Don, if Charlie had been attacked that way trying to help him, he knew he couldn't have borne –

Well, shit. That was exactly what Charlie had been talking about.

He ran his hands over his face and sighed before looking back at his brother who was still waiting for an answer. Then he nodded. "Yeah, Charlie. I think I understand that."

"Good," Charlie said. "So I guess you won't ask me again to act in a way that might bring harm to you."

Don hesitated. He knew that what his brother was asking of him was only fair, but he also knew he had to be truthful with him. "I can't promise that," he said. "I mean, I understand what you're saying. I do." He locked eyes with his brother, seeing the same emotion in them he could feel in his heart. "I really do, Charlie." He let the words sink in before he went on, "But I… well, this works just as well the other way round, you know? I don't want… I don't want you to get hurt. And when I'm busy trying to… well, to look out for you, if you can call it that, I might forget that you worry about me just as much as I worry about you."

Charlie was looking up at him, a thin smile appearing on his face. "Don't you worry. I'll remind you of that."

\- finis -


	11. Kidnapped

**Disclaimer:** I'm letting you in on a little secret of mine: I don't own Numb3rs or its characters, I just keep borrowing them. Oh, and I have a feeling that especially the first encounter between Charlie and Alan is very similar to one of the series, but I can't remember which episode.  
 **Rating:** can't see why it shouldn't be T  
 **Timeline:** end of season 2  
 **A/N:** If you have any ideas for L, please contact me. Otherwise I'll be stuck with 'Lonely' and no inspiration whatsoever. And just so you know, reviews are very much welcome :)  
Please enjoy!

* * *

 **Kidnapped**

 _Wednesday, 11 am, FBI headquarters_

When Don had ridden up in the elevator, he'd still been thinking that the upcoming meeting would be a necessary evil. Sure, as their new boss – and as an outsider no less, coming from their office in Atlanta – Steven Morrison wanted to get to know the SACs that were answerable to him and hear an overall report from their own mouths. On the other hand, since he would get to know them sooner or later anyway and could have gone through the written reports all on his own, Don had still considered this a waste of time.

However, when he entered the office and was met with an appraising, even contemptuous stare, he started getting the feeling that maybe there was more to this meeting than a simple getting-to-know-each-other.

"Agent Eppes," Morrison greeted him. "Glad you could make it. I know you have a lot of work to do, so I'm going to come straight to the point," he said, and Don refrained from telling him that everything he'd said so far was definitely not what Don understood by 'coming to the point'. "You know that I've been here only for two days now, but I already noticed some dubious personnel choices within your team."

Don frowned. He had the feeling that Morrison had actually reached his point already, but he had no idea what he was hinting at.

"I'm talking about a mathematician who's been listed as a consultant for your team on a considerable number of cases over the past two years," Morrison explained. Don guessed that it was for dramatic effect that he read the name from the file lying before him. "Professor Charles Eppes." To continue the drama, he now looked up at Don. "Your brother?"

"Yes, Sir," Don replied, still frowning. "I'm sorry, but I fail to see the problem."

"The problem, Agent Eppes, is that the FBI is not a charity, and neither is it a place to provide for washed-up academics. This agency is funded by the taxes of the people of this country, and they are paying those taxes so that we keep them safe. This is the purpose of this agency, and none other, are we clear on that?"

For a moment, Don was so dumbfounded that he couldn't say a word. Morrison had made his point in a pretty straight-forward manner, he'd grant him that, but he still couldn't believe he'd understood him correctly. "Sir – are you accusing me of nepotism?"

"I'm simply informing you that nepotism is something that we don't want to have here."

Don shook his head, still unbelieving. "Sir, with all due respect, my brother has been invaluable for our work these past few months, and if you have any doubts about that, I suggest you take a look at our success rate in solving cases."

"That's what I did, Agent Eppes, and that's why we're having this conversation in the first place. I know that you're a good agent and that you have a good team, so I don't want to lose you as an SAC. If, however, I find that there are things going on that I cannot tolerate, I will have to take the necessary actions. So take this as a friendly warning, Agent. I'll be monitoring your work closely, so make sure that I won't have any reason to be displeased with you or your team." As one last dramatic effect, he cast a glance at his watch and closed the file. "That was all, you can go back to work now."

A bit startled by the sudden end of their meeting, Don automatically stood. Only when he turned around to the door, he realized how crazy it was to just leave without making another attempt of putting things straight. On the other hand, he was taken so much by surprise that he didn't find anything to say, and since he also considered it wiser not to say anything to his boss that might spontaneously come to his mind, he left without another word. When he'd closed the door to Morrison's office behind himself though, he had to take a couple of deep breaths. He was still feeling as though he'd just been in the matrix, but by now, his disbelief and surprise had turned into anger. Had his boss been serious? How could he have seen their work and still think that he'd just listed Charlie on their pay-roll to provide his brother with an income? Where did he take the nerve from to make such an accusation without having any grounds?

He closed his eyes and tried to get Morrison out of his head and focus on the case that was waiting for him. There were enough things for him to do even without such bureaucratic nonsense. However, he failed in the attempt; Morrison's accusations just wouldn't vanish from his mind.

He was still miffed when he stepped off the elevator on the floor that housed his office. A quick glance at his watch told him that it was 11:19 now and thus he was late for their briefing, which had started at 11:15. Okay, not late by much – but it seemed as though any minute late or any t uncrossed would be a welcome opportunity for Morrison to reprimand him. And now that pretentious pencil pusher would supervise their work and try finding reasons to get Charlie fired, this was just great. As if he didn't have enough on his plate already.

He'd just jerked the door to the conference room open when he stopped short and his mood deteriorated even further. "Where's Charlie?" he asked his waiting team members, working hard to keep the growl out of his voice. Had he just actually defended someone against his boss who couldn't even keep a simple appointment?

David had already opened his mouth when Don heard hurried steps behind himself.

"Oh, good, you haven't started yet," his brother said as he squeezed through the door past Don and hastened to set up his laptop.

"You're late," Don remarked sourly as he closed the door.

Charlie tilted his head a little, his eyes still focused on the laptop. "Not later than you."

Don would have liked to bury his fist in that grin. "Stop being such a smart-ass. I told you to be here at 11:15, it's 11:20 now and you're still not ready to present your results, that's _late_." He noticed the raised eye-brows his team members exchanged, and that did nothing to improve his mood.

Also his brother's grin was gone now. "I told you I'd probably be running a little late, I had a lecture until 11."

"And you had a meeting here at 11:15. I don't care how you do it, but I expect you to be here on time, like everybody else."

Charlie was shaking his head slightly, confusion clearly showing on his face. "What's your problem?"

"My problem is that you're unreliable. We're paying you to do a job and right now, you fail to fulfill its requirements."

Charlie's eyes practically fell out of their sockets. "I what?!"

"We're going to discuss this later. We're on a schedule here, so do you mind starting now?"

Charlie was still staring at him.

" _Now_ , Charlie, and that's not a question, that's an order!"

He could see Charlie's jaw clench and his eyes seemed to be firing spears at him, but he seemed to have made his point. After a few moments, Charlie started presenting his results – without the usual analogies, true, so Don wasn't sure if he was getting his methodology, but at least with respect to his results he was clear and efficient.

"Any questions?" he asked when he'd finished. The angry stare had dissipated a little while he'd been talking about his numbers, but there was still a healthy amount of irritation in his voice, and also his posture didn't seem very conciliatory. He had his arms crossed before his chest and the muscles around his jaw were still tense.

 _Well_ , Don thought _, if you want a fight, you can have a fight._ His brother's open show of petulance only managed to irritate him further. Charlie just had to realize that this wasn't about him, that he was just here to do his job like everyone else and that he couldn't expect the sort of appreciation he normally got for every little thing he did.

"Okay then, David and Colby, you go back to interrogating our suspect, he doesn't seem hardened enough not to sing sooner or later. Megan, you call the stores that Charlie designated and warn them so they're on the lookout. Charlie, you stay." Charlie, who'd just been in the process of angrily stuffing his laptop in his bag, paused and glared at him.

He was crossing his arms again, but the door was still falling shut behind Megan when he started his venting. "Do you mind telling me now what your problem is?"

" _My_ problem? Listen closely, Charlie, you're the one with a problem here, and that is an attitude problem. You're here to do a job, so I expect you to do your job, end of discussion."

"And what on earth makes you think that I'm _not_ doing my job?"

"I already told you, and that's another problem with your attitude, because whether you like it or not, I'm your boss here, so if I give you an order, or if I reprimand you, you don't start whining or arguing, but just do as you're told, got it?"

"So this is actually about me being five minutes late?"

"Well, reality check, Charlie! In our job, five minutes might very well make the difference between life and death!"

Charlie rolled his eyes at that. "You always make that –"

"Because it's true," Don hissed, "and don't roll your eyes at me."

"Or what, you'll fire me?"

"I might, Charlie, because believe it or not, you're not the only mathematician out there, and I'm certain it shouldn't be hard to find someone who's more reliable than you are!"

Charlie shook his head and finished stuffing his belongings into his bag. "I don't have to take this," he said, his voice low and brimming with emotion.

"Actually, you do," Don shot back as Charlie pushed his way past him. "This is an official reprimand. I expect you to be punctual, to follow my orders and to do your job, like everyone else." He was already out of the door then, so Don called after him, "Are we clear on that?"

He got no answer.

* * *

 _Wednesday, 6:30 pm, Eppes residence_

"You should have heard him!" Charlie vented. His anger had been simmering over the course of the day and now that he could rant about his stubborn brother to none other than his genitor, he couldn't contain himself any longer. "He was acting as though… I don't know, as though –"

"As though you had been late for a meeting?" his father suggested calmly, looking up innocently from his newspaper over the rim of his glasses.

Charlie stared at him and started wondering whether maybe he'd entered a parallel universe when he'd gotten out of bed this morning. "Are you actually taking his side?"

"I'm taking nobody's side. I'm just saying, from what you told me it seems as though you were late and he reprimanded you for that. I can't see anything wrong with that, in fact, it's his job to take care of such things."

"But you should have heard how he talked to me! He acted as though –"

"As though he was your boss?" his dad suggested. He put down his newspaper. "I don't mean to criticize you, Charlie, but did it ever occur to you that you might have a problem with Don ordering you around and that you might behave a little less defiantly if your boss was someone other than your older brother?"

Charlie shook his head. He couldn't believe they were ganging up on him. "That's basically what Don said!"

"Well, then maybe you should start wondering whether there might not be something to it."

"You know what," Charlie said angrily, pulling his jacket back on and almost ripping off a sleeve in the process, "I think I should head back to CalSci, I still got some work to do." As he grabbed his keys, he was well aware that he was escaping from an argument, just like he had done this morning in Don's office, but that didn't stop him in his agitated state. "Might get late, so don't wait up with dinner." With that, he was out of the door.

When he sat behind his steering-wheel, he took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, at least enough so that he wouldn't be a danger to other traffic participants. It was just that he'd been so sure that his dad would be on his side, because he'd been so sure that Don had had no right in saying what he'd said. Charlie _was_ doing the work he was hired to do. True, he'd been late, but Don knew he had another job with other commitments attached, and he'd known that right from the beginning when he'd started consulting. Still, he seemed to expect Charlie to always be at his beck and call, and sometimes Charlie wondered if Don wasn't enjoying ordering him around like that.

He sighed. Maybe their dad was right. Maybe that was indeed the problem that was lying underneath. Maybe the idea that he should work with his big brother as his boss had been doomed to fail right from the start, maybe this whole consulting thing had been one big mistake.

He turned on the engine and drove off, but the thought wouldn't vanish. _Had_ he made a mistake by inserting himself into his brother's work? Don certainly thought so. _You're not the only mathematician out there_ , he'd said. _I_ _t shouldn't be hard to find someone who's more reliable than you are._

Charlie gripped the steering-wheel more tightly. He knew he shouldn't get himself worked up over this. After all, it didn't really come as a surprise that to Don, their working relationship, which practically represented all the relationship that there was between them, was founded solely on functionality. To Don, he was just another tool, he'd made it abundantly clear to him that he didn't see him as his brother, but merely as part of the workforce, a part which, if faulty, should be immediately exchanged for a better replacement. All that was no news to him, Don was all about efficiency.

He clenched his teeth, anger rising up inside him when he thought that he'd worked until late into the night yesterday just to finish his work for the FBI. For a moment, he envisioned Don actually firing him and then looking for a substitute. Maybe then he'd finally value the work Charlie did for them. He himself had no illusions about his work, some of the concepts he'd developed for the FBI had been groundbreaking, and he'd developed them within a time frame – and under an amount of pressure! – that was remarkable. He knew for a fact that not a lot of people could do that, and those who could would hardly be content with what the FBI was willing to pay them, for they knew what kind of money they could make with their abilities. Don might end up with someone who thought that the mere fact of having earned a bachelor's degree in mathematics enabled him to figure out a solution to any problem given to him within hours.

He sighed. He started feeling self-loathing evoked by his own arrogance, but he knew that Don hadn't been fair to him today. The problem was that now, after the discussion with his father, he was starting to wonder whether maybe he hadn't been fair to Don either. After all, Don _was_ his boss when it came to the FBI, and Charlie had to admit that he didn't actually treat him with the same respect he treated his bosses at CalSci with or his bosses at other consulting gigs.

As he came to a halt at a red light, dimly wondering why he wasn't allowed to drive when there was nobody else around, he decided that they needed to talk about this. Okay, so maybe he had to reconsider his dealing with his brother / boss, but Don also had to –

 _Bang_.

Charlie's head was flung forwards, then back again, hitting the headrest hard. His heart was racing in his chest and when he'd realized what had just happened, he unbuckled his seat-belt and got out, still holding the back of his head, which was starting to throb.

"Hey!" he said, not in his most friendly manner, to the two men who were just getting out of the van that had bumped into the rear of his own car. "Are you blind or something?"

Now that he saw their brawny figures fully, he thought that it might have been wiser to adopt a more polite tone, but keeping his temper in check was simply asking too much of him tonight.

Luckily, they seemed peaceful enough. "Shit, I'm so sorry," the driver said, sounding genuinely apologetic. "Are you hurt?"

Charlie, already feeling bad for his earlier rudeness, dismissed his aching head with a gesture of his hand. "It's not that bad, just a little bump." He sighed when his eyes fell upon his badly-dented trunk. "Which is more than I can say about my car."

"Shit," the driver repeated. "Look, don't worry, I've got insurance, so it shouldn't be a problem to sort this out. Still, I guess we'd better call the cops, just to be on the safe side. Or are you in a hurry?"

"No," Charlie sighed. "Let me make the call, I just need to grab my cell."

He'd half-turned to get back to the driver's seat to retrieve his cell, but he never got that far. Before he even reached the door, two strong arms were holding him firmly in place while a third hand covered his mouth. A moment later, before he'd really understood what was going on, he felt a prick in his neck. He started fighting back then, trying to get his arms free, to kick them with his legs, but his resistance was short-lived. His limbs were getting heavy fast, and only few seconds after the attack, he went limp in those strong arms, and reality eluded him.

* * *

 _Thursday, 9 am, FBI headquarters_

The clock in his computer had just changed to 9:00 am and Don, who'd been keeping close tabs on that clock ever since he'd arrived at the office this morning, threw his pencil in the rough direction of the screen, exasperated.

"I can't believe his nerve," he mumbled, half to himself, half to his co-workers. "Alright, guys," he added, louder now, but just as irritated as before, "let's get started. Any new developments since yesterday?"

They glanced at each other, but it was David who spoke up. "Wasn't Charlie going to come?"

Don clenched his teeth. His team's loyalty towards his brother would have been touching if said brother hadn't been in the process of letting them down. "Well, do you see him anywhere?"

"The two of you wouldn't be having any issues, would you?" Megan asked innocently.

"And even if we had, it would be hardly an excuse for him not to show up for this meeting."

"That's not what I meant. I was just wondering why you bit off his head yesterday for practically no reason."

"What, you're defending him now?"

Megan shrugged. "I think someone should."

Don stared at his desk, avoiding her eyes. He'd had a feeling he'd been a little harsh yesterday, but in principle everything he'd said had been true, so Charlie still had no excuse for his behavior. Right?

"Look, Don," Megan tried again, "I've worked at other offices before, I know how much Charlie eases our work, and instead of recognizing that, you depicted him as a slob yesterday, even though you know that's not true."

"He knows that we value his work," Don said in a tone that he hoped would end this discussion. "He still needs to learn though that the same rules that apply to everybody also apply to him."

"The same rules or the aggravated version for the boss's younger brother?"

His hand made contact with his desk, loudly. "That's enough, Megan! We've got work to do. Now Colby, what did you find out?"

After that, the subject of his brother wasn't addressed again, even though Don couldn't miss the strained atmosphere. All in all, there wasn't much to be discussed, so it didn't take them long to finish the briefing. It was only 9:10 now and Don was still warring with himself. Ten minutes still wasn't much, and Charlie was usually reliable and punctual, so if this had been anyone else, he might have overlooked his being late. On the other hand, this wasn't anyone else, and Don was almost certain that Charlie hadn't shown up to this meeting just to spite him, which was a kind of behavior that was so childish that he couldn't tolerate it. So if he couldn't tolerate it, he'd have to take appropriate actions, maybe even take him off this case, right? He'd warned him yesterday. He'd at least have to give him another reprimand, so if Charlie allowed himself another misconduct, Don would have to take more severe steps, like suspending him, maybe even firing him for good. That seemed to be the appropriate way of dealing with this situation, yet Don was reluctant to even consider the possibility. His brother had become part of this team, he couldn't just fire him for some technicalities. Or maybe that was exactly what he should do, maybe this was part of the problem that Morrison had been talking about, that he'd lost objectivity concerning his brother's involvement in their cases.

He groaned in exasperation and decided to give him a call after all. If Charlie was clever enough to find a good excuse, they might wriggle out of this problem without further consequences for either of them.

He growled when his call went to voice mail. "Seriously, Charlie, you're ditching my calls now?" he snapped into the receiver. "I've warned you. You're becoming a liability for this team, and if you don't call me back within the next hour to give me a good excuse for missing this morning's meeting, you don't even need to bother coming back!" With that, he hung up and slid his cell across his desk.

* * *

 _Thursday, 2 am, a darkened room_

He was sick. It was a kind of sickness that was centered in his stomach, but that had already spread in his entire body, causing him an overall discomfort. He was desperate to change positions, to double over and release part of the sickness, to hold his stomach with his arms or better still to lie down until the dizziness would go away. He tried bringing his arms forward, but it wouldn't work, he couldn't move them.

"He's waking up," a voice said. "Get the camera ready."

It took Charlie a few seconds until he realized that he had no idea what the person was talking about – or who that person was. Neither was he sure whether the man – it had been a man, right? – had been talking to him or to someone else. Was there even anyone else around? And where was he, anyway?

With an almost superhuman effort, he opened his eyes and thought he would lose the contents of his stomach there and then. He swallowed the feeling down, forcing himself to take deep and regular breaths. That was when he noticed that the air was damp, even a bit moldy, and smelled of limestone. What place was this? True, he had his eyes open now, but all he could see was the gray ground underneath his feet that looked like concrete, giving him no clue as to his whereabouts whatsoever.

He lifted his head, trying to solve the mystery, but had to squint his eyes. A bright light was shining at him, blinding him. He tried getting his hands up front to shun the light, but he still couldn't move them, they were –

Damn. They were bound. They were bound behind his back. This wasn't good. This so couldn't be good.

His heart rate had accelerated, making him a little more alert, and by now his eyes had accustomed to the light well enough to enable him to see a little bit more of his surroundings. Next to the bright light, there was another light, a little one, a red light indicator that apparently belonged to a camcorder. More light came from a laptop that was opened next to the camcorder, its screen turned away from Charlie and illuminating the black figure that was standing there behind the table.

"Good morning, Doctor," the voice from earlier said, and for a moment, Charlie was confused. It didn't come from the black figure behind the laptop, but from his left. The man – it was a man, there was no doubt about that now – had to be standing directly next to the bright light so that Charlie could only see his outline. The voice triggered something in his memory, but before he could figure out what it was, the man went on, "I hope you slept well. After all, we might soon be needing your skills."

Now it hit him: the accident, the two men who had bumped into him, the prick in his neck. He recognized the voice now, it had been the driver of the van, and now he had no difficulty guessing why he was feeling so miserable. They had to have run into his car on purpose so that he would get out and they could drug him, they must have had a syringe with some barbiturate on them that they had injected in his neck. It had been a simple ruse, one of the most common ones nowadays, and despite all the work he'd done for law enforcement, he'd been too blind to see what was going on until it had been too late. Now, he was in their hands.

But why? What was their goal? What were they going to do to him?

"You see, Agent Eppes," the driver went on, "we thought that since you were so fond of our tech-guy that you just wouldn't let him go, we'd simply make a little exchange, so we'll be hosting _your_ tech-guy until we get back ours. I'm sure you'll agree that this arrangement is only fair."

Charlie's heart rate was quickening even further. It was them, the robbers they'd been after, the ones on whose case he'd been working for Don. It just had to be them, it all fit: Don's team had arrested one of their group only Tuesday, that was why Charlie had had to recalculate their possible targets in the first place, because they were now one man short. Since they'd arrested the robber outside of the bank, just in the process of packing up the data his accomplices had sent to him from within the bank, it was reasonable to assume that he was their man for hacking and breaking through surveillance. Their tech-guy.

Now they wanted him back, so they were talking to Don, they were addressing him _right now_ , so this was his chance to let the team know everything that could possible help them find him.

"Two men!" Charlie blurted out and was dismayed to see how heavy his tongue felt. That still had to be the effects of the barbiturate His speech was slowed down, which under the circumstances was more than a little inconvenient. "Six feet, dark van, license plate ending on a 45, they're –"

A shadow was quickly coming towards him and before he could go on, a white light exploded in his head. "What do you think you're doing?" the angry voice barked. Then the fist came from below, hitting his lower jaw and making him bite his tongue. The next two blows were directed at his cheek again, hitting his nose in the process. "You think you're clever? Well, newsflash, you little brat, we're not broadcasting live! You think we're idiots?"

Instead of answering, Charlie coughed and spit some blood out. He'd bitten only the side of his tongue and thought that it wasn't a serious injury, but it was already bleeding forcefully and the metallic taste did nothing to relieve him of his sickness. As if that wasn't enough, there was also a metallic smell now and something was trickling above his upper lip, so his nose had to be bleeding, too.

"Listen to me." Charlie's head shrank back when he could feel the man's hot breath on his face. "This is what's waiting for you if you try to be clever again. So go ahead, try if you like. After all, the more pitiful you look, the easier it'll be to convince the FBI to make the exchange."

Charlie glared at him, his body trembling all over, his heart rate still quick, but his mind strangely calmed down by the blows. So they were trying to intimidate him by using physical force – well, good luck with that. He'd had more than his fair share of that sort of violence while growing up and over the years had learned to adopt a cool, even contemptuous attitude towards methods like that and towards the people who thought they could show their power by kicking a man when he was down – or in this case, by punching a man when he was restrained. True, they could inflict physical pain on him by that, but if they hoped to break his spirit this way, they were very much mistaken.

The man was back to his spot next to the light when he spoke again, obviously addressing the camera again. "What you see here, Agent Eppes," he said, "are the consequences of our guest's bad manners. I think, however, that he's quite ready now to adhere to our customs, although it seems to me as though he's not particularly keen on continuing our little exchange project. Am I right, Doctor? If so, you just have to tell the feds to release our tech-guy and as soon as they do, you can go back to your family."

Charlie turned his head slightly, trying to ignore the sharp and throbbing pain, glaring at the spot where the voice had come from, still unable to clearly see him against the bright light.

"Go ahead, tell them. You're allowed to speak now."

Charlie clenched his jaw. He knew what they were going for, that they were hoping for him to whine and plead, to increase their chances of the FBI cutting a deal with them. Charlie wasn't willing to do them that favor, though. He was pretty sure that the FBI couldn't do that kind of prisoner's exchange anyway, so asking them to wasn't an option. However, his mind was already racing in order to determine whether there wasn't something else he could tell Don, something that would improve his position, but he couldn't think of anything, at least not of something that his captors wouldn't notice and consequently cut out before sending Don the tape. At last, he even thought about using the power of speech he'd just been given in order to spite his captors, to antagonize them, but he refrained from doing so. His goal should be to keep open as many courses of action as possible and that included keeping himself as healthy as he could.

And so, he stayed silent, his only answer being to once again spit out the blood that had accumulated in his mouth, using that gesture as a form of passive resistance.

* * *

 _Thursday, 11:30 am, FBI headquarters_

"Agent Eppes?" Don looked up from his desk as the young clerk drew nearer, a brown envelope in her hands. "This has just been dropped off for you by courier. X-rays show it's not booby trapped."

"Okay," he said, too surprised to think of something else. "Thanks," he added as he accepted the envelope. It was blank and standard-issue, with no indication whatsoever as to who might have sent it.

He opened it and soon had in his hand what he'd already expected from touch, a plastic case containing a CD, or maybe a DVD.

"Megan," he said as he rose from his chair, holding up the disc, "second pair of eyes?"

She nodded and rose from her seat as well, following him into a room where they could examine the disc's content without being disturbed – and without risking getting a virus on the internal system. He could sense that she was still a little offish, but as long as she maintained her professionalism, he could live with that.

They'd just settled in the small room and Don inserted the disc. He'd hardly hit the play button when an image appeared on the screen that turned his stomach around. He felt as though he couldn't breathe anymore. There was a tingling sound in his ears, and over it, he heard Megan say, her voice strangely flat, "I'll get David and Colby." He hardly registered her words, his eyes, his whole existence being focused on the image on the screen.

It was Charlie. He was sitting on a chair, obviously restrained. His head had sunken onto his chest and for a few anxious moments, Don just stared at that head, waiting for a movement, any movement at all, while he himself was sitting there motionlessly, not even breathing. He thought he had seen a twitch of his arms and then, Charlie's head came up, a look of confusion on his face, but apparently he wasn't hurt, and Don's breathing set in again, quick and shallow.

" _Good morning, Doctor,"_ a voice said, and Don flinched, while at the same time, the door opened and he felt his team members gathering behind his chair.

"Shit," he heard Colby's soft murmur before he told himself to re-focus his attention on the screen and on the voice coming out of the speakers.

" _I hope you slept well,"_ it said. _"After all, we might soon be needing your skills."_

"Who is that?" he could hear David ask behind him. "Does anyone recognize the voice?"

Before either of them could answer that, the voice went on, _"_ _You see, Agent Eppes_ _,_ _we thought that since_ _you were so fond of our tech-guy that you just wouldn't let him go, we'd simply make a little exchange,_ _so we'll be hosting your tech-guy until we get back_ _ours_ _._ _I'_ _m sure_ _you'll agree that this arrangement is only fair."_

Don's hands were clenched to fists, his fingernails cutting into his palms, but he took no notice of that. So this was about the case, about the robbers whose tech-guy they'd caught. Charlie had been kidnapped because of Don's job, even worse, because Don had asked him for his help on that case. Charlie had done that, he'd helped him out and that had gotten him kidnapped, and the worst thing was that the work he'd done for them had gotten him nothing but reprimands from Don.

Just as he was busy with this self-accusation, the video went black. He sat up straight, but only a moment later, it came back on, and all four of them gasped.

"Shit," Colby cursed again.

Don didn't say anything, afraid to open his mouth. He was sick. The sight that greeted them was an awful one. Charlie, who'd only been confused so far, was breathing heavily now, coughing a little and spitting some blood in the process. It landed on his jacket, but there was more blood to be seen, it was running down from his nose and also his lip was smeared with it. That bastard had beaten Charlie up when he hadn't been able to fight back, and Don felt so much hatred against that coward that he wouldn't have stopped giving him a taste of his own medicine if he only could have gotten his hands on him in that moment.

" _What you see here, Agent Eppes,"_ the voice interrupted his thoughts, _"are the consequences of our guest's bad manners. I think, however, that he's quite ready now to adhere to our customs, although it seems to me as though he's not particularly keen on continuing our little exchange project. Am I right, Doctor? If so, you just have to tell the feds to release our tech-guy and as soon as they do, you can go back to your family."_

Don was about to get up, to get away from this, unable to see his little brother helpless like that any longer, but found that his legs wouldn't hold him. Then, when he took a closer look at Charlie's face, he stopped short, first unbelieving, then feeling pride welling up inside him, and just a glimmer of hope. He knew that look, and for once, he was glad to see the stubborn expression there. Despite what they'd done to him, despite having lost his freedom, Charlie was still maintaining an attitude of defiance. He was still fighting them, still not giving in.

" _Go ahead, tell them_ ," the voice said, and the corners of Don's mouth twitched to something like a grim smile. They still thought Charlie would play along with their plan and had no idea how wrong they were, because they didn't know him the way Don did _. "You're allowed to speak now."_

Just as Don started breathing more forcefully again, assured by Charlie's show of defiance, the video went black once more and his heart skipped a beat. Then it came back on.

The first thing Don saw was Charlie's throat and the sparkling blade of a big knife the kidnapper was holding to it. He was pulling Charlie's head back at his hair and going by the expression on Charlie's face, that hurt quite a lot. Only then, when he managed to take his eyes off his brother's face, did Don realize that the light had changed so that the spot behind Charlie where his captor was standing was mostly in the dark.

" _So your tech-guy seems to be a little rebel,"_ the voice said. It was more muffled now than before, so Don guessed that the mask he was wearing now was another change they had done while the video had been black, just like the change of the light. They were obviously trying to minimize the FBI's opportunities to draw any conclusions from the video as to their identity, but since the kidnapper had put the mask on only now, that didn't mean good news for Charlie. _"In that case I'll advise you to be quick about the exchange, for I gotta tell you, I'm not known for being patient. I trust you'll be able to make the necessary arrangements until tomorrow morning at 9, for if you don't, this'll be the last time you see your little friend."_

With that, the video stopped.

Don's head was still swimming with everything he'd seen. He heard the voices of his team members, but they seemed strangely distant, as though Don wasn't really part of this, as though he was just an observer curious about the outcome of this strange scene instead of an active participant on whom that outcome depended.

"We need to track the GPS in Charlie's cell, laptop and car," Colby said, "maybe they were careless enough to take those with them."

David added, "I'm going to file a missing person's report with the LAPD and see if any tips come in, maybe someone noticed something out of the ordinary."

"So we first have to figure out the last time somebody saw him," Colby said. "We need to talk to Alan, Amita and Larry."

"We should also watch the tape once more, maybe we'll find some further clues there we haven't noticed so far," Megan said. She gave Don a side-glance and then decided, "I'll do that."

"We also need to inform the A.D.," David said. A nervous tone had entered his voice and he was eyeing Don just as anxiously. "He needs to decide how we're going to deal with this." He glanced around. "Even if we keep working on this, I don't think that anyone of us should be calling the shots, we're far too close to this."

"No," Don said. His voice was rough and he had to clear his throat. "We won't tell Morrison."

"But Don –" Megan tried, but was cut off.

"Morrison already thinks we only hire Charlie because he's my brother," he explained and was a little astounded that he'd been able to form a complete sentence, given the state his mind was in. "He'll think this is just another case of nepotism, he won't take the threat seriously because he doesn't understand what Charlie can do."

If he had paid attention, he would have noticed the frowns on their faces. "He doesn't seriously think –" Colby started, but was interrupted.

"Morrison will stay out of this," Don decided, "end of discussion."

* * *

 _Thursday, 1 pm, a dark room_

Charlie could hear his stomach rumble. He was pretty sure that the sickness he was experiencing wasn't caused by the barbiturate anymore, but by hunger. He wondered what time it was. How long had it been since he'd last eaten something?

Far worse than the hunger, however, was the thirst. His head was throbbing, and he was relatively certain that the blows to his head were only one reason for that. They hadn't given him any water so far – or anything else – and Charlie was wondering how long they'd keep this up. Would they risk letting him die of thirst or hunger?

He shivered, and again, he figured that the cold was only partly to blame for that. Anyway, it wasn't as bad as it had been a couple of hours ago, the room seemed warmer now. Maybe that was the difference between night and day? Or maybe it was just the drug wearing off, who knew. In any case he had a hard time keeping himself warm, even though he was still wearing his jacket. The damp air however had crawled underneath his clothes, and the lack of movement was playing its own part at chilling him. They had only released him once so far to let him use the facilities, they'd put a hood on him while they had led him up a flight of stairs, but other than that, his movements had been restricted to tensing and relaxing his muscles.

Earlier, when his kidnappers had left him alone down here, he'd tried shouting, but all that had gotten him had been a couple of blows to his stomach and the pain they'd left behind. Wherever he was, the spot seemed to be relatively secluded, or otherwise he figured he would have heard some sounds from the outside by now, voices or traffic or a barking dog. But apart from their occasional footsteps from above, there was nothing, and there was nothing to keep his mind occupied.

He'd been thinking about how to improve his situation, maybe somehow let Don and the team know where he was, but if his kidnappers were true to their word, there wouldn't be another chance for him to communicate with Don. Thus, he just had to hope that they had gotten the clue he'd already given them, and that it would help them in their efforts to find him.

* * *

 _Thursday, 1 pm, FBI headquarters_

"I've got something," Megan said and her three colleagues hastily stood to gather around her. "He's communicating with us through Morse code."

They collectively raised their eye-brows and then frowned when they took a glance at the symbols she had written down. They made no sense, so the most likely explanation for her excitement was that she was grasping at straws.

"You analyzed his blinking rhythm or what?" Colby asked, the disappointment over the nullity of this lead showing itself through irritation.

"He kept lifting his shoulder rhythmically," Megan said, undeterred. "It starts when the kidnapper puts the knife to his throat. It's just tiny movements so that at first I thought he was just trying to loosen his bonds or to shrink back from the knife, but when I looked up the equivalents in Morse code, it revealed this."

She held out the paper towards them, which still didn't show anything else but _vanx45_ _blan?_.

"Or maybe he _was_ just trying to get away from the knife," David surmised, just as doubtful as his partner.

Megan shook her head impatiently. "Don't you see? It's their car! He saw their car, remember?"

They had found Charlie's cell, laptop and car by now, all in the same spot, in the undergrowth near a hardly used side-road that was near the route Charlie usually took from his house to CalSci. Judging from the state of the rear of Charlie's car, they were assuming that the robbers had purposely caused an accident to catch him off-guard when he'd gotten out of his car, a method that had become a popular ruse these days. Then they must have driven his car off the main road to prevent it from being found too soon.

David was frowning now. "I still don't see –"

"It must have been a van," Megan interrupted him, "that's the v-a-n, and that fits the preliminary examination of forensics, and I'm sure that the 'x45' stands for the license plate number. He probably only got the last two digits, so x45 must mean 'something 45' or 'ending on a 45'."

"Okay, but what about the 'blan-question mark'?" Colby asked, still not willing to let go of his skepticism completely.

" _I'm_ the one who wrote the question mark, because I guess that the last letter wasn't an 'n', for this is the point where the video stops, so I guess we just didn't get his full message. I'm thinking that instead of n, which is long-short, he meant to say c, which is the same sequence twice, so he might have been trying to say 'black', which also fits the traces of varnish that forensics found on his car."

"Start a search for that van," Don said, and his cold tone made them all shudder.

"Already did," Megan said when she'd recovered. Now that she had told them, the excitement was leaving her voice and she let her eyes stray across the bullpen to the group of three that was gathering in the break room. "We should probably ask Alan if he's seen the van. Maybe he remembers something else about it."

Don followed her gaze and swallowed hard, but nodded. "I think you should do that," he said, still unable to face his father alone, afraid of the reproach he would get, reproach that Don was trying his best to keep away from himself, at least as long as they still had to find Charlie.

* * *

 _Thursday, 10 pm, a dark room_

It had been his turn to go through the humiliating experience of using the bathroom again and now they were re-tying him to the chair. He winced as he lowered himself onto the hard wood, his buttocks were already sore, but that was nothing compared to his wrists. By now he'd figured out that they were using cable ties to bind his hands together, and also to bind his ankles to the legs of the chair. His ankles presented no problem, but even though he had soon stopped his attempts to loosen the bonds around his hands, they had already cut into his wrists, making their renewal a painful undertaking.

"So, what's your relation? To the agent, I mean?"

Charlie looked up. That was new. Except for that video immediately after he'd first woken up, his kidnappers had left him very much alone and hadn't spoken to him. True, at first they'd tried to convince him of indeed taking their tech-guy's place, but he'd refused. There was no way he would contribute to their crimes, they'd already shot and injured two people, he couldn't become a part of that. They'd tried physical force again, they'd given him another couple of blows to his stomach, but when he'd remained firm, they hadn't pushed the issue further. Charlie wasn't sure whether they weren't insisting on that because they were unwilling to seriously harm him, maybe afraid of accidentally killing him, or because they wouldn't be able to trust him anyway if he changed his mind. He hadn't really cared about their reasons, though, he was just glad they had abandoned their attempts and were keeping their distance from him now. He'd known they were still there, he'd heard occasional footsteps, but he hadn't been able to figure out anything about them beyond that. He wasn't even sure how many there were of them, although the footsteps suggested that it was more than the two he'd seen so far, there seemed to be at least three of them, maybe four or five, but he wasn't sure.

That, however, wasn't the question that was occupying his mind now. The question of the hour was why they would deviate from their pattern. Why would they start talking to him now? Why would they change tactics? What was their goal?

"Come on," the driver went on, "'Eppes' really isn't a very common name. So what are you? Brothers? Cousins?"

Charlie clenched his teeth, keeping himself from saying anything he might regret.

"Giving me the silent treatment, huh? And I thought you might like some conversation for a change."

Charlie clenched his teeth harder, wondering if his kidnapper had any idea how true his words were. As much as his body was yearning for a release, it all would have been so much more bearable if he had had someone in here to talk to, or _anything_ to pass the time with. He'd even started going through a series of proofs for mathematical theorems in his mind, but either they were too simple to really capture his attention, or they were so complicated that he always lost his way in the middle of it.

His captor sighed and stood. "Alright, shouldn't be too hard to find out," he said and opened the laptop that was still sitting there next to the camcorder. While he was googling them, Charlie tried to figure out if the fact that they apparently had WiFi down here couldn't be of any use to him. He couldn't think of anything, though.

"Brothers, then. Interesting. And yet, you're still here and George is still in prison. Your brother doesn't seem to be in a hurry to get you back."

"He can't just go against office regulations," Charlie said and an instant later would have liked to bite his tongue off. Fully, this time.

A sneer appeared on his captor's face. "Hit a nerve there, didn't I? Maybe he doesn't want you back. Maybe he's happy with the exchange."

Charlie stayed silent, clenching his teeth so hard that it hurt. He knew that his kidnapper was just taunting him. He knew that Don was trying everything to get him back. Don wouldn't just abandon him like that. He cared about him, and he valued the work he did for them. He was trying to get him back.

 _Y_ _ou're not the only mathematician out there,_ Don's words came back to him, uninvited and unwelcome. _I'm certain it shouldn't be hard to find someone who's more reliable than you are_ _._

He swallowed. It wasn't true. Don was looking for him. Surely he was.

* * *

 _Thursday, 11 pm, FBI headquarters_

Don was standing there in the conference room before his team, Amita, Larry and his dad, and felt panic rise inside him. He couldn't shake the feeling that there had to be something they could do, yet he couldn't think of anything, or at least he couldn't think of anything that would have been wiser than catching some sleep to be prepared for tomorrow's events.

"Alright, guys," he said, his voice thin and tremulous, lacking its usual self-assuredness. "We should call it a day. We need to be alert tomorrow."

"You can't be serious, Don," his dad said and Don closed his eyes. He'd been afraid of this. "You just want to go home now? Charlie's –"

"He's right, Alan," Colby interrupted him. "It makes more sense to start fresh tomorrow. We've done everything we could today."

They had, and it hadn't been little. True, they still hadn't figured out the complete number of the license plate, maybe because it had been forged or belonged to another state, and thus still didn't know the robbers' identities, safe for the one they'd caught Tuesday. Interrogating him hadn't revealed anything either though, and even going from his contacts, they couldn't find the rest of the group. The robbers had obviously been careful about their communication and since their relationship seemed to be a solely professional one, trying to find the rest of the group by going through their suspect's personal life had been a dead end.

They had been relatively successful on another subject, though. Amita and Larry had rerun Charlie's analysis with the new data set – that is mainly with the new information of the black van and of Charlie being their captive – and had narrowed the possible targets for the robbers' next heist to three stores, which was a manageable number: two jewelry stores and one shop that sold haute couture. Since the new timeline they'd established suggested that the next attack would be tomorrow, and they also knew that their robbers would strike during business hours, that had given them time to prepare the stakeouts on those shops. Now they were done and there wasn't anything else to do, not until tomorrow morning before the shops would open.

"We're going to meet here at 7," Don said. "Amita and Larry, it would be good if you could hold the fort here during the stakeout to help analyzing incoming satellite images. We'll be on the lookout for the black van. Can you do that?"

They nodded, and Don tried not to look at their pale faces. They were well aware of how much their success depended on their analysis. If their extension of Charlie's original analysis was sound and their prediction that the robbers would strike sometime tomorrow morning, at one of the stores they'd designated, was correct, they'd have a good chance of apprehending them and then figuring out where they might be holding Charlie. If, however, their analysis was wrong and the robbers hit a different store, or if their timeline was wrong and the robbers struck earlier or later, Charlie would have a big problem. True, it was highly unlikely that the robbers would strike earlier, for the security on the stores was far too high out of opening hours. However, Charlie would also have a big problem if they struck much later than Amita and Larry had predicted, for the robbers had given them a deadline until 9 am tomorrow. They were pushing their luck by putting all their eggs in one basket, and since the stake was nothing less than Charlie's life, nobody was feeling at ease about that. True, they didn't have any other leads to follow and their analysis was backed by Megan's profile, but there still was too much at stake to feel reassured.

The goodbyes were exchanged in a subdued manner, each of them tense about the next day, and each trying to think of something they might have overlooked, of something that might still be worth doing tonight.

"That's the spot where they'd parked the van," Alan said dully a few minutes later, right before Don turned into Charlie's driveway. "I keep thinking that I should be able to remember the plate or at least whether it was from California, but I just can't."

"Don't beat yourself up about that," Don said as they got out, but didn't manage to give his voice the soothing tone he'd been going for. He just couldn't dismiss the fact that everything would have been so much easier if his dad – or anyone else on the street, for that matter – had been able to remember something about the van that, according to his father, had been parking there for most part of Wednesday afternoon, waiting for a chance to follow Charlie when he left his house alone so they could overpower him undetected.

Don shuddered at the thought and it made him feel like a stranger at his childhood home. This wasn't about him, though, so he'd just have to pull himself together. He would turn his mind off now and go to sleep so that he wouldn't mess up tomorrow. His brother was counting on him.

There was a knock at his door and Don looked up to see his father step in, a glass of water in his hand.

"What's that?" he asked.

"An offer," his dad replied. "You should rest now." He was fighting hard to keep his emotions in check, his voice almost breaking when he added, "You're going to need a clear head tomorrow."

Don nodded and took the glass with the sleeping medication without further hesitation. Charlie was counting on him, and he'd do everything in his power to not let him down.

* * *

 _Friday, 7 am, a dark room_

Charlie tensed up. He heard footsteps on the other side of the door, which always meant potential danger to him. At least when he was alone, there was no one there to hurt him.

The door opened and Charlie thought it was the driver again, although it wasn't easy to recognize anything in the faint light that was coming from upstairs.

"Alright," the figure said and he could recognize the voice as the driver's now, "last chance. You're willing to make some use of your skills?"

"No," Charlie said and was dismayed at hearing his own voice, hoarse and rough, hardly sounding human anymore. He hadn't been talking in a while now and the lack of fluids wasn't helping either. It was hurting quite a bit, too.

"Sure?"

Charlie glared at him. "Absolutely."

"Well, that's a pity," the robber said and his tone actually seemed a little bleak to Charlie. "I don't think you're going to make it much longer, and I doubt they'll find you in time." He started packing up the headlight, the camcorder and the laptop then.

That elicited some words from him after all. "Is it 9 am yet?"

His kidnapper paused, probably wondering whether it was wise to let Charlie in on their plans and then deciding that it didn't matter anyway. "Not yet. But I guess if they didn't let George go until now, they never will. And if they do, we can still let him know where to find us. So our new goal is self-preservation, and all we need for that is a little holiday fund."

"You mean you're going on the run?"

"I mean that's none of your business. You chose not to be part of our little group, remember? Now hold still if you don't want me to hurt you."

With that, he gagged him with a piece of cloth and then pulled a hood over Charlie's head, the same hood they'd used for his trips to the bathroom. It felt rough on his skin, it had to be made of burlap or something similar. He could hear some ripping and a moment later felt duct tape being put around his neck to keep the hood in place. He groaned, trying to make him stop, but he could have just as well tried to make a stone cry.

"Alright, that should do. After all, we don't want to take any risks that some passer-by might hear you, do we?"

Charlie continued moaning, trying to hold him back, to change his mind, but he could hear him exit the room and close the door behind him. He still didn't give up, he still tried to get them to come back, to at least take the hood and the gag off of him, but his groaning didn't have any effect and eventually, he could hear another door, more distant, and then everything was quiet.

* * *

 _Friday, 11 am, FBI headquarters_

Amita was fighting hard to control her breathing and get enough air into her lungs, thinking she might pass out any instant. She also tried not to constantly look at the clock. It was 11 am now, the deadline the robbers had given them had been exceeded two hours ago and so far, they weren't anywhere to be seen.

"What if they don't show up?" she asked in a whisper, not for the first time this morning. Until now, however, Larry's responses had been reassuring, he'd been insisting that it was still early, that they were going to come eventually. That kind of response was now losing its cogency fast.

Consequently, Larry was silent for almost a full minute. "We'll have to think of something else then," he said eventually, and Amita nodded, fighting hard against the tears.

"There!" he cried out suddenly, pointing at the screen with the satellite images. "A black van!"

Amita couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope now, even though she knew it didn't have to mean anything. It was the sixth black van of this morning and so far, none of them had fit the license plate. Of course, the agents on site had closely watched them nonetheless, but all five of them had been false alarm. What reason was there to think that it would be different this time?

Still, she hastened to inform Megan, who was staking out the jewelry store where the van had appeared. It was on the other side of the building from where they were conducting their observation, and they had to check it out, like they had done with the previous vans.

Contrary to those other instances, however, the radio reply they got this time wasn't dominated by disappointment, but by tension and hope. "It's them," Megan said, "keep your eyes on that van in case they try to escape."

Amita and Larry exchanged a glance, hardly daring to believe what they were hearing. Amita's heart rate quickened, her mouth was dry, and all her efforts were directed at controlling her breathing, staring at the screen and updating their satellite images.

This way, some tense minutes passed without either of them saying a word. Then Megan delivered them the first good news in days, "We've got them. We're coming back."

* * *

 _Friday, 11 am, a dark room_

As soon as Charlie had managed to calm his breathing down after realizing they'd actually abandoned him, he forced himself to start thinking again. Knowledge was power, so he just had to use all the facts he had and make the best of his situation. If they had left, that wasn't necessarily bad news for him, he just had to use this knowledge to his advantage, and thus he had to analyze his situation.

So the exchange wasn't part of their agenda anymore, or at least their side of the bargain wasn't. They seemed to have lost any intention of releasing him, if they had ever even considered doing that in the first place. On the other hand, he was also pretty sure that they were in the process of committing another robbery, so there was a chance that the team would apprehend them. Either way, they were not coming back, for if they managed to rob one of those stores, they would go on the run, they'd made that pretty clear. Therefore, Charlie had two options: he could either hope that Don would find him and just sit here waiting for him, or he could try to make use of his newfound freedom – granted, a very restricted form of freedom that only consisted in the absence of guards – and try to release himself.

It was no contest. He knew that there were a number of things that could go wrong on the team's end: the robbers could get away, but even if they were arrested, they still might not be willing to tell them where they were holding him – or to confess to the kidnapping in the first place. On the other hand, there wasn't much he could lose by trying to get himself out of here.

At least, that was what things looked like in theory. When he tried getting more freedom for his hands, however, and winced once again as the cable ties cut into his flesh, he figured that in practice, waiting for the team to rescue him would have been a much more comfortable solution.

He clenched his teeth and kept telling himself that this was worth it, that he just had to bear a little pain, which was a small price to pay when he considered that the alternative might result in his life ending down here in this basement. Besides, the fact that they had used those painful cable ties might actually be beneficial for him now, because the plastic might be hard enough so that he could slowly work himself through the wooden stays of the chair's backrest.

It was an agonizing and slow process and he couldn't hold back tears of pain. After a while, when his shoulders started cramping up, he felt with his fingers for the progress he'd made and would have liked to cry for real then. His progress was practically non-existent. He'd hardly scratched the wood's surface. If the interior of those stays didn't turn out to be of sugar or, better still, air, he figured that he would have worked the cable ties sooner through his own wrists than through the stays.

Still, he tried for another bit, but then forced himself to use his brain again. There had to be another way to get these bonds off of him, he just had to think a little outside the box. Maybe there'd been something in this room that might help him? Even if it was only a nail in the wall, he just needed something sharp and protruding. The problem was that he didn't know his surroundings since he'd been sitting in complete darkness most of the time.

He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the gag in his mouth. He'd have to examine this room then, and that meant he'd have to move. This shouldn't be too hard. He just had to get to one of the walls and then he could work his way along them.

He tried jerking his chair to his left, thinking that this was much more difficult than he'd expected. He just didn't have control over the direction in which the chair decided giving a jerk. Plus, he had a feeling that for every inch he got to his left, the chair slid back two inches to his right, and by now, he'd lost any sense of orientation.

He was breathing hard and every muscle in his body was already screaming with fatigue. This had to be going faster somehow, he just had to do this right, he needed the right timing and the right amount of force. His desperation was growing fast though and he gave his chair a jerk that was much more violent than any of the jolts before it. It only took him a second to realize that he'd made a mistake.

The chair was tilting dangerously. Charlie tried to stop the movement, to tilt it back on the ground, but he only brought his fall about faster. A second later, he was hitting the ground hard and howled. His whole left side was throbbing, but his ribs and his arm were the worst of it. He didn't think that anything was broken, but he'd definitely have those bruises for at least a week, and the backrest of the chair was still effectively pressing his arm against the ground, still causing him pain.

He forced himself to focus on his breathing again and tried to make the best of it. Maybe this little accident was his ticket to freedom, because now that the chair wasn't standing on the ground anymore, he might manage to free his feet by simply pulling the cable ties around his ankles over the end of the chair's legs.

With new determination, he started the attempt with his right leg because he could move that one more easily, his left leg supporting his weight. His lower legs were longer than the legs of the chair, so it should be possible, he just had to stretch –

It didn't work. The cable tie was holding him back, no matter how hard he yanked at it. It seemed as though they had tied his ankles to a part of the chair's legs that was thinner than the rest of them. Still, he also tried with his left leg and only gave up when exhaustion got the better of him.

He shuddered when he realized that he still hadn't been able to improve his situation and even worse, that he was running out of ideas.

* * *

 _Friday, 4 pm, FBI headquarters_

"Don – Morrison."

Don looked up from his screen and over to David, who was indicating their A.D. with a brief nod of his head. He uttered a soft curse. Morrison seemed infuriated and was coming directly towards him, so it wasn't hard to guess what this was about. They didn't have time for this, though.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" Morrison snapped when he'd come close enough so that at least not everyone in the bullpen could overhear them.

Don had to restrain himself mightily to remain calm and not tell his boss to go to hell, or any other place where he wouldn't hinder them. "Sir, we're investigating a series of robberies linked to a kidnapping case and have just –"

"I know what it is you're doing, the whole building seems to know that!" Morrison hissed. "I want to know why you didn't consider it necessary to inform me! None of you should be working this case –"

Remaining calm became more of a challenge with every second passing, with every second that they were wasting with this nonsense. "Whether you believe it or not, Charlie's a vital asset for the FBI, and I couldn't –"

"Don't you think I've figured that out by now? Of course we should do everything to get him back, but that also means we should put some agents on this who can maintain a clear head, and that certainly doesn't apply to any of you!"

"With all due respect, Sir," David interposed in an attempt not to let things get out of hand, "we did our job well so far. We apprehended four more robbers and are confident that's all of them, and we're also close to figuring out where they're keeping him. You just need to let us continue doing our job."

David's calm manner had actually served to cool down the flared tempers a little. Morrison's voice was still filled with anger, but at least he seemed willing to listen to them. "And how exactly are you trying to figure out where they're keeping him? You know very well that if you're beating the suspects -"

"There has been no physical violence against the suspects whatsoever," David explained. Alright, maybe they'd handled them a little more roughly during the arrest than they usually did, but they had all contained themselves, knowing what was at stake here. Plus, it had helped that they had never let Don anywhere near them. "We have established their identity and are now pulling data about their properties, living conditions and whereabouts during the last couple of days."

Morrison was calmer now, but still skeptical. "And you think you'll manage to go through all that information in time?"

"We –" David started, but stopped himself short. Larry and Amita were coming towards them, excitement clearly showing on their faces.

"We've got it," Amita said. She was talking a little too fast, so the agents had some difficulty following. "One of them, Small, his uncle owns a farm only a couple of minutes outside of town. It doesn't seem to be in use anymore, and we checked the satellite images, there's been a dark van parked there during the past few days!"

Don was already standing, but Morrison planted himself in front of him. "Wait," he said and for a moment, it looked as though Don was going to punch him. They stared into each other's eyes for what seemed like ages, although it couldn't have been more than a second or two. Then Morrison nodded, apparently making a decision. "Tell Agent Reeves she's in charge. Now go."

* * *

 _Friday, 5 pm, a dark room_

Charlie opened his eyes, not that it helped much. He still had the hood on and the room was still dark. There had been a noise though, and his body tensed up, trying to be ready for whatever was about to come and at the same time trying to ignore the voice at the back of his head asking him what the use was of being prepared in his situation, when he was still lying on the floor and bound to that chair.

The door to his room was opened and quick footsteps could be heard entering, a lot of them, all the while keeping the volume to a minimum. Charlie's breathing quickened as he was lying there, tense, wondering what this was and waiting for something to happen, trying to ignore the nausea evoked by the gag.

"All clear!" he could hear a distant voice shout and suddenly, all the quiet was gone. The light was switched on, he could tell even through the hood, and several people seemed to be zeroing in on him. He tried shrinking back, but he couldn't, he was helpless.

"It's okay, Charlie," he heard David's voice and flinched at hearing it so close beside him. He could feel a hand on his upper arm and only noticed now how much his body was trembling. "It's us, we're gonna get you out of here now."

He closed his eyes with relief and nodded slightly, trying to keep his breathing regular. It had become shallow, the gag making it even harder to take deep breaths.

"We're gonna take that hood off of you now, okay, buddy?"

He pressed his eyes closed more tightly at that, fighting hard to keep his emotions in check. Don. Don was here. Everything would come out all right now.

"I'm going to rip off the duct tape around your neck now," Don went on and Charlie couldn't help but notice how strange his voice sounded. It was very low, very strained, yet trembling with emotion. He'd never heard his brother talk in such a tone before.

The sound of his voice had thrown him so much that he flinched a little when Don put his words into action. "It's okay," he soothed, "it's over now." Then he carefully pulled the hood off.

Charlie squinted. After the darkness of the past hours, even the dim light seemed glaring and it took him a moment to see their faces clearly. Megan was a bit in the background, apparently giving orders to other agents he couldn't see, while Colby was talking into his radio with a serious expression on his face. David and Don were kneeling next to him and when Charlie's eyes fell onto his brother's face, he had to avert his gaze; the expression he saw there was so full of emotion that he couldn't have contained his own feelings if he'd continued looking at it.

"Let's get this off of you," Don said in that strange voice and started untying the knot of the gag in Charlie's neck.

"Has anyone seen a pair of scissors lying around?" David in the meanwhile asked the agents behind him. "I don't want to cut his bonds with my knife, it'd only cut the ties deeper into his flesh."

Before Charlie learned the answer to that question, his attention was redirected to the gag that Don was just pulling out of his mouth, which suddenly felt very dry. Still, it felt good to be able to breathe again.

"Are you okay?" Don asked, his face only inches from Charlie's now, his hand resting on his arms in a calming and comforting manner. Charlie just nodded, not trusting his voice right now.

He could hear something snap behind himself and a moment later realized that David must have found some scissors, for his arms seemed to be free. The plastic ties were pulled from his wrists, which started stinging worse than before. It was a strange sensation, he could feel that he had gained freedom, but he still couldn't make any use of it since his arms were still numb.

Don seemed to be aware of that. "Tell me as soon as I'm hurting you," he said as he took Charlie's right arm and gently pulled it forward, around the chair, gently putting it down in front of him while Charlie kept telling himself that this limb he didn't really feel actually belonged to himself. He had less trouble following the movements of his right leg, which David was carefully laying down on the floor too, next to his other leg, after having cut the cable ties there as well.

"Okay, easy now," Don said and brought his hands under Charlie's upper body. Charlie could feel someone pulling the chair away while David and Don helped him to get up into a sitting position. He clenched his teeth, the movement had evoked a stinging pain in his left arm and side and a throbbing pain in his head. Dark splotches were clouding his field of vision and he closed his eyes.

"You okay there?" he heard Don's voice. It sounded more distant now even though he could still feel his breath on his face. He nodded, his eyes still closed, trying to get his sense of balance back.

"You think you can get up?" Don asked and again, Charlie nodded. Truth be told, he wasn't sure whether he could do that, but he was desperate to leave this room and would have tried almost anything to get out of here as quickly as possible.

He opened his eyes again, trying to focus on the door and telling himself that it shouldn't be too hard to get that far. He could do this. One step at a time.

Four strong hands were helping him up, pulling him to his feet, but as soon as he stood, the dark splotches were there again, assailing him more quickly and more forcefully than before. There was also something wrong with his ears, there was a soft tingling sound that just wouldn't go away, like an acoustic fog, and through it, he could hear Don's voice, strangely distant, "Charlie!", alarm in it, and he tried to fight through the fog and get to that voice.

"Hey, Charlie, can you hear me?"

The alarm was still there, but the fog seemed to have lifted a bit, and now his field of vision slowly cleared, the dark splotches lessening. Only now did he notice that his knees had buckled and he was leaning heavily against his brother's chest, Don's hands and several others the only thing still keeping him upright. At some point Don must have changed his grip, for he now had one arm going under Charlie's shoulder and around his chest to keep him from going down.

As soon as Charlie realized that, he fought hard to stand on his own two feet again, heat shooting up in his head due to embarrassment about his body's weakness.

"Hey… you're okay again?" Don's voice was even lower and more tremulous than before.

He nodded, but kept his eyes down, still ashamed of his near-collapse.

"David, take his feet, I've got him here."

Now that the room had stopped wavering, Charlie had no trouble understanding what they were planning to do.

"No," he said. He was startled to hear his own voice. It was low and soft, a toneless whisper.

"Charlie –"

"I can walk," he cut his brother off and started putting his words into action. David's and Don's hands were guiding him to the door, every now and then helping to keep him upright, but he managed, one step at a time, on his own two feet, like a real human being.

They had made the steps upstairs and left the house and there the dark splotches were starting to increase again, just as that acoustic fog that was starting to lay itself over his ears once more.

"Just a few more yards," he could hear Don's low voice in his ears, his words tearing through the fog. He'd make it. Just a few more yards. He'd make it.

Suddenly, they were standing next to an ambulance car and other hands were touching him, guiding him onto a stretcher and then from a sitting position into a lying one. He closed his eyes again, his surroundings had started spinning once more.

"Can you tell me your name, Sir?" a female voice asked and Charlie started feeling a little ill at ease. All of a sudden, there were too many strange people around, and all the familiar ones had left.

He opened his eyes, finding Don's face immediately and only now recognizing the hand that was still lying on his shoulder as his.

"Charlie," he replied, telling himself that he'd just have to go through this so he could finally go home.

He blocked out all the other voices around himself and just concentrated on the one talking to him. "Are you in pain?"

He shook his head. He wasn't in pain, he was miserable. Strangely, however, it was getting better the longer he was lying there. It took him a minute or two to realize that this probably had something to do with the electrolyte solution they had attached to his arm.

"What about your head?"

Right. He'd almost forgotten about that. "Throbbing. But it's getting better."

"Did you experience vertigo or vomition following those injuries, or did you lose consciousness?"

He shook his head.

"He collapsed right before we brought him up," Don volunteered and Charlie would have liked to turn him off, like some melodramatic movie reminding him of a difficult time in his life. "I'm not sure if he lost consciousness, but I'd definitely say he was experiencing vertigo."

"But not as a result of the blows to my head," Charlie said, hoping he wouldn't have to keep talking for much longer. This was starting to hurt, his throat was getting sore, and yet he still was hardly audible. "She only wants to know whether I have a concussion. I don't."

She smiled. "Well, at least it seems as though we won't have to list confusion as one of your symptoms." She shone a light in his eyes, checked his blood pressure and pulse once more and then seemed to make a decision. "From what you're telling me, it seems that all your injuries, as painful as they are, are relatively superficial, so technically they don't require a hospital stay. You are, however, quite dehydrated, so if you do decide to convalesce at home, you'll have to ingest a lot of fluids, like unsweetened tea or water, though always at small quantities. If you have reason to believe that a regular fluid intake might not be possible at your home, you should spend the night in the hospital where we can continue the infusion."

Before Don could say anything, he quickly replied, "I'm going home. I'll make sure to drink enough."

"Very well," she said and after a second or two managed to put the reassuring smile back on her face. "We'll keep the infusion in place while we clean your wounds, but then you should be good to go home."

Charlie just nodded. He didn't think he'd be able to talk now, for his throat had tightened mightily at that magic word, 'home'.

* * *

 _Friday, 8 pm, Eppes residence_

True to his word, Charlie was paying close attention to his fluid intake, with Alan supervising the process. When his sons had come home, it had taken several minutes and a remark from Don about Charlie's peaky appearance to release him from his grip. Amita and Larry had been there, too, but had soon left the Eppes family alone to give Charlie some opportunity to rest. Alan had made him a chicken soup then and made sure that his injuries were taken care of, but he still felt utterly unable to let him out of his sight, having a hard time to leave him even for his short visits to the kitchen.

They'd been sitting there in silence for a while, Alan taking in the battered form of his youngest son both with relief and with grief, when Charlie suddenly proposed, "You want to watch the game?"

Don snorted. "Yeah, very funny," he said sarcastically.

"I'm serious," Charlie explained calmly. "I shouldn't sleep yet because I still have to drink regularly, but I… I can't stand you staring at me like this all the time."

That made the other two Eppes men fall silent for a minute.

"But Charlie," Alan then said and cleared his throat, yet hesitated to go on, "you know we can't just ignore what happened. This is something we need to talk about."

A panicked look had entered Charlie's face and he shook his head vehemently. "But not tonight," he said, looking from one to the other with wide eyes and a silent plea simmering in their depths. Much more quietly, he added, "Please."

Over the course of his life, Alan had had a number of opportunities to get used to that pleading look, and he had established a certain resistance against it. Tonight, however, he had no more reserves to put up a fight, and much less did he have any resilience left to see his son suffer.

"Alright then," he heard himself say and told himself that this was the right thing to do. There would still be time to come to terms with what had happened, they had the right to cut themselves some slack for just tonight. "Let's watch the game."

He pressed his lips together tightly, trying not to get the look of pure gratitude his youngest gave him get to him too much. So while Charlie sat there on the couch next to his brother, drinking some more of his chicken soup, Don and Alan fought hard to keep their eyes on the screen at least most of the time, even though they were unaware of what was going on there. Only after a couple of minutes though, they could stop pretending, for their side-glances revealed them that Charlie had fallen asleep.

For a minute, they just watched his rib-cage rise and fall with that reassuring steadiness that they had always taken for granted.

"Should I wake him up?" Don eventually asked in a low voice. "He still needs to drink."

Alan shook his head, drinking from the wisdom he'd accumulated over the years as a father. "He just had soup. Let him sleep for another couple of minutes."

Don nodded and let his eyes wander back to his brother's rib-cage and then to his face. He pressed his lips together tightly, telling himself that the bruises he could see there were probably one of Charlie's less significant problems. He felt a stab at his heart at the exhaustion he saw there even in his sleep, and only now did he actually agree with his father. Charlie seemed to be needing rest just as badly as fluids.

And so they fell into a 20 minutes cycle of letting Charlie sleep and then waking him up so he would take care of his fluid intake, all the while with the sounds of the TV trickling away in the quiet atmosphere, giving the scene a grotesque semblance of normalcy. It was almost ten o'clock when Alan couldn't stand it any longer.

"That's enough," he decided when it was obvious that Charlie was once again seconds from falling asleep. "You need to rest properly."

Thus they brought him upstairs, waking him only two more times until midnight to make him drink before they too decided to go to bed.

For four hours, the Eppes residence was quiet and at first glance nothing revealed the fallout of the most recent events. Then, however, this time of peace was over, at least for Charlie, for he was roughly awakened by a nightmare. It took him a while to get his bearings, and when his breathing had calmed down again, he couldn't even remember what the nightmare had been about. He had, however, quite a definite suspicion, just as he had a very definite suspicion that this wouldn't remain the last nightmare of this sort.

He tried going back to sleep, but found that he couldn't. He got up to close his widely open door and found that it was better this way, he could at least close his eyes now without his heart rate quickening painfully. Still, sleep kept eluding him, so eventually, he went downstairs to make himself another cup of tea.

He was still in the kitchen when Don joined him. "You're okay?" he asked worriedly and Charlie couldn't help but wonder how many more times he'd ask him that.

He nodded. "Just couldn't sleep anymore." He quickly glanced at Don. "I didn't mean to wake you, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Don simply said and started making himself a cup of coffee. His eyes fell onto his brother's hands, on the dried blood around his wrists, and he had to fight a gagging reflex. He was getting used to the bruises on his face, but those marks around his wrist were an even more painful reminder of the emotional drain they'd all gone through these last two days.

He tried getting a good look on Charlie's face, but his brother wasn't looking at him and seemed to be trying to hide most part of his face with his curls. It worked.

Don swallowed hard. He knew his dad had been right the previous evening, they needed to talk about this, more to the point, _Charlie_ needed to talk about this. Don could only imagine what his brother had been through these past couple of days, during all those hours in captivity, in isolation. He knew that experiences of that kind could leave deep marks on a person's soul, and he felt the sickness return with a vengeance when he thought what it might do to his little brother.

"You know," he said, his eyes wandering back to the marks on Charlie's wrists, and had to clear his throat, "if you want to talk, I'm standing right here."

For a minute, it seemed as though Charlie would ignore him. Then, when he showed him a reaction after all, he kept addressing his tea as he replied, "You still need my testimony for your report, don't you?"

That was a reply Don hadn't been ready for and it took him a second to come up with the right answer, "Eventually, yes, but that's not what I meant."

"Can we do that now? I mean, here, at the house?"

Don eyed him thoughtfully. He wasn't sure whether Charlie was insisting on this because he felt compelled to or because he actually wanted to talk about what had happened, so he tried giving him a choice without putting pressure on him. "You think you're up to it?"

Charlie nodded, desperate to get this over with. He waited impatiently for Don to get his dictaphone and join him on the couch and then he began his narrative, starting from the staged accident Wednesday evening. It was difficult, there was no doubt about it, but he also had to realize that it was somehow liberating to talk about what had happened, to share it with someone instead of holding it all in.

When they had finished taking his testimony, Don had adopted his soothing tone again. "You okay?"

Charlie gave a little sigh. "You can stop asking me that, Don. Look, I'm home, I'm safe and I'm back to health, so yeah, I'm okay."

Don gave him a doubtful look, which Charlie decided to ignore by staring intently into his cup. Don swallowed hard at the image, the emotions tightening his throat, and put an arm around his brother's shoulders. "You will be, you know," he said quietly. "You're going to feel safe again, and until you do, you can rest assured that I won't let anyone hurt you."

Charlie nodded, blinking rapidly to prevent the tears from spilling. It took him a moment, but it worked. "Thanks," he said very quietly. He hesitated before he went on, but if there was a moment to say this, it was now. Besides, you could never be sure to get another chance, he'd learned that lesson. He cleared his throat, then he said, "You're good at this. I mean, you actually manage to make me feel better. I appreciate that."

Instead of answering, Don gave his brother's shoulders a tight squeeze. When he was reasonably certain that the lump in his throat had receded enough to enable him to speak again, he said, "That's what I'm here for."

Charlie turned his head to look at him now. "No, I mean it. You're always there for me. When I… when I was down there, in that basement… It really meant a lot to me knowing that you were somewhere out there and that you wouldn't stop searching until you found me. I can trust you, Don, unconditionally, and that's… that's something that can't be taken for granted, and I know that. I know that I'm lucky to have you as my brother."

It was Don's turn to look away then. He knew that Charlie had a tendency to see him as better than he actually was, and when he compared his brother's words with how he'd treated Charlie right before the kidnapping, he felt so ashamed that it made him sick.

"You shouldn't say that," he argued. "You're forgetting that I'm pretty hard on you sometimes and more than a little unfair. And there's..." He hesitated. He was afraid to say this, he would have liked to just turn back time and take his words back, but ever since they had gotten Charlie back, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about this, and he was even more afraid that if he didn't straighten things out now, Charlie might listen to those words later and think he'd meant them. "You know, when you didn't show up for that meeting Thursday morning, I was pretty angry, because with the new head in the office… Anyway, when you didn't show up, I called you, and I… It's just that when you check your voice mail, you might find something on there..."

He didn't know how to go on, so he was glad that Charlie interrupted his stammers. "Like you yelling at me not to bother coming back?" He'd listened to that voice mail only an hour ago. When he'd found he couldn't sleep any longer, he'd thought about calling Amita, then decided it was too early to do that. Still, the longing to hear a familiar voice had been strong enough to make him listen to his voice mail instead.

A look of pure agony had entered Don's face. "Charlie, please, you have to believe me that I didn't mean that. And I had no idea –"

"I know," Charlie interrupted him, unable to bear the anguish on his brother's face any longer. "It's okay. We'd been fighting, you couldn't know." He paused, thinking back at his captivity, at how he'd been hoping that Don would come and get him out of there and how his kidnapper had tried to shatter that hope. It was true, his kidnapper had managed to cast doubt on the way Charlie had been thinking about their relationship, but the important thing was that he hadn't reached his goal, he hadn't been able to destroy the trust Charlie had in his big brother. "I still won't take back what I said earlier. We're brothers, Don, we fight occasionally. But at the end of the day, I'm still lucky to have you as my brother."

Don nodded, pressing his lips together to keep his emotions in check. For a minute, they just sat there, simply glad about each other's company.

"That works just as well the other way round, you know?" Don then said. He was not at all comfortable sharing this, but he knew that people didn't always get a second chance to say the things they wanted to say. He'd known that for quite some time now, it was knowledge that his job hardly let him forget, but only recent events had shown him that there were things he would regret not telling his brother.

He cleared his throat. This was it, the moment of truth. "I know I don't say it very often, but I… You've got to know that I really appreciate all the work you're doing for us. And… and it's nice working together with you. I would have never dreamt we could ever stand spending so much time together, and now I got to admit, I'm enjoying it."

For the first time since Wednesday morning, there was a smile on Charlie's face, and this time, instead of irritating Don, it made his heart sing. "Me, too," Charlie said and the grin was accompanied by a mischievous glint in his eyes when he added, "Even though it's always a challenge bearing that bored look on Colby's face whenever I'm presenting you my results."

Don felt the corners of his mouth twitch and allowed himself to be infected by Charlie's tentative good humor. "That bad, huh?"

"You have no idea. I've never seen anything like it, and I've seen my fair share of students. And I never know if he's about to fall asleep or to try shutting me up by some snarky comment."

Don chuckled. "I'd like to see him try the latter. He'll figure out pretty soon that it's not much fun arguing with an opponent who's got a reply to everything."

Charlie grinned a little sheepishly to that while upstairs, Alan quietly made his way back to his bedroom and soon, for the first time this morning, slept peacefully, a soft smile on his lips.

\- finis -


	12. Landslide

**Disclaimer:** It's been so long that I can hardly remember whether I have ever told you that Numb3rs and its characters don't belong to me.  
 **Rating:** T  
 **Timeline:** season 4  
 **A/N:** Oh boy, I thought I was never going to end this chapter. The next one won't be that long in coming, I promise.  
Thanks a lot to phantomeyeswriter for six wonderful story titles! I picked this one and I hope that you like what I did with it. I also found Deleted717's title idea "Lecher" pretty tempting, I'll have to find another way to include that into a story ;)

* * *

 **Landslide**

"I think we'll need to come back at another time," Charlie said, casting a look up into the sky. "It doesn't seem like we're getting any more usable data, and I think it's starting to rain."

Even in the darkness, he could see the alarm on Larry's face. "Rain?" he repeated and held out his hand. "Oh, dear Lord, you're right, we need to hurry!" he then said and Charlie hid his smile while from the corner of his eye he watched Larry gather their equipment with frantic and not very expedient movements. True, their equipment was expensive, but a couple of rain drops shouldn't do it much damage. As long as they weren't smitten with hail, they should be good.

Still, he hurried to help Larry get all the stuff into the car before the rain became more intense, which was actually sooner than he would have preferred.

"That's everything, right?" Charlie called over to his friend while trying, without much success, to pull his jacket over his head to keep himself from getting more wet than he already was.

Larry, who was just as unsuccessful in keeping himself dry in what was now a full-blown downpour, turned around his own axis, looking for equipment they might have forgotten. "I guess so," he said eventually and thoughtfully scratched his chin, his eyes and the flashlight darting across the landscape.

Charlie had hardly waited for his answer and was already hurrying to the safety of his car. Once inside, he ran his hands through his curls to get the water out, not that it helped much. After only a short hesitation, he turned up the heat. It was an hour drive back to Pasadena and even though they hadn't been in the rain for long, their clothes were already drenched, and even though it was still early in December, the temperatures got uncomfortably cool at night, especially out here in the forests.

Larry got in next to him and closed the door behind himself, shuddering with the cold. "Now that was a sudden change of weather," he said.

Charlie shrugged. "They forecast it. We should feel lucky that after those storms these past few days we finally had at least some hours of relatively cloudless night sky."

"That reminds me, I've been meaning to thank you. I couldn't have carried out those measurements by myself."

Charlie grinned as he pulled the car back on the dirt track. "Hey, we're doing the research together, remember? Or are you trying to keep all the glory to yourself?"

Larry too was smiling. "You may believe me that I'm perfectly through with that false kind of pride, my dear friend. But seriously, while I have no inclination to contest your right of conducting the mathematical analysis, gathering the data for said analysis would normally have been my part, so let me just say thank you for coming out here with me."

"Hey, me too I'm interested in getting clearer data, it makes for a much more elegant analysis, and we both agreed that we wanted to do this in a setting where we can minimize both air and light pollution. So what do you say, do you think we'll have to come out here again?"

He could more feel than see Larry thoughtfully tilt his head, since he didn't dare to take his eyes off the road. With the rain and the dark, it was becoming increasingly difficult to see the dirt track, and it didn't make matters easier that he was pretty unfamiliar with the terrain. Sure, he'd come up here hiking every now and then, for these forests and hills were lying practically at his doorstep, but the area was also vast enough to keep him from calling himself an expert in this terrain.

"It depends," Larry was saying and it took Charlie a moment to remember what they had been talking about. He tried listening to his friend while he chose to make it a priority to concentrate on driving. "We'll have to assess the data we were able to gather and then decide whether it's enough for a sound analysis. Judging from..."

He fell silent and Charlie had no problem figuring out the reason. They had seen it the same instant: something with the slope that was rising up high to their left was wrong, there was movement that shouldn't be there. Charlie had already hit the brakes, but soon realized that it wouldn't do them much good. True, given that ahead of them the soil was shifting and moving down towards the track, hitting the brakes seemed sensible enough, but now that they turned their gazes to what was directly to their left, to the dark mass of soil and trees and stones, it was blatantly obvious that stopping the car here wasn't going to help them. In fact, there seemed to be no place they could go to be safe from what was about to crush down on the track, not within the few valuable seconds it took for the tons of material to move down the slope.

For a moment, it hit him how surreal this was, how surreal it was that they were just sitting there waiting for the catastrophe to occur, and how surreal it was that it would be so quiet, that neither Larry nor him were screaming with panic and fear. He was too shocked to scream, though. As the car came to a stop, he just sat there unmoving, unable to do anything and well aware that there wasn't anything useful that he could do. His eyes, however, were wide open as he watched the dark wall of shrubs, mud and stone crashing down towards them.

* * *

 _The next morning, Eppes residence_

Don was still stretching himself while going down the stairs when his father called out in his direction, "Charlie?"

"Morning, Dad."

"Oh, it's you," Alan said and was crossing the living-room with a swiftness that was remarkable for a man of his age. "Have you seen your brother?"

"Not this morning, no," Don replied a little drawling, watching his father's hectic movements before he decided that he was not in the mood for guessing this morning. "You're in a hurry?"

"My train's leaving in half an hour," his dad explained in a slightly offhand manner and only now did Don remember the project up in Fresno he'd been hired for by an old friend of his.

"I thought you were going there by car."

"In contrast to young people like you, I'd like to minimize my ecological footprint instead of maximizing it," his dad snapped at him over his shoulder while he was already on his way back upstairs, "Charlie? We're going to be late!"

Despite his dad's bad mood, Don couldn't help but grin to himself. If there was one thing his old man still had to accept about his youngest, it was the fact that Charlie was _so_ not a morning person.

"Did you hear him come home last night?"

Don would have never admitted doing so, but he flinched a little upon suddenly hearing his father's voice so close. He would have been lying if he'd said he'd noticed him. So alright, maybe he himself wasn't a morning person either.

"No," he answered, "he's not here?" He could see that his dad was about to vent on Charlie's unreliability, and since he had no inclination to hear aggression this early in the morning, he hastened to add as casually as he could, "Must have spent the night at Amita's place."

It worked somehow. His dad's response was merely a grumbling one, irritated, but not furious. "He promised to take me to Union Station this morning."

Don raised his eye-brows and couldn't help himself, he hardly even tried to keep the mocking tone out of his voice. "And you thought it'd be a good idea to rely on him to get there in time?"

The reply was a sharp one. "To tell the truth, yes, I thought that after having him reminded once again _yesterday_ , it should have been possible for him to be true to his word."

Don tried to hide his lopsided grin. Apparently his little brother had reached a new stage of 'absent-minded professor'.

"So will you drive me?"

Don's smile disappeared instantly and his good mood finally got a little dent. Should have known that this was going to rebound on him. Still, he hadn't given up hope completely yet. "Have you tried his cell?"

"It's no use if he's not here. I'm going to miss the train if we don't go now."

Don held up his hands in a placating manner, inwardly cursing his brother's forgetfulness. "Alright, let me just put some trousers on, then we can go."

* * *

With the detour to the train station and a stop at his own apartment to get a change of clothes, Don arrived at the office almost half an hour later than he had planned. Soon, however, it became clear that this morning's events had only been the forebodings of what turned out to be a cursed day. Every time he would start working on their newest case, his phone would ring and keep him from being productive while he had to grapple with bureaucratic nonsense. To make things worse, nothing was working as it should, his computer had come to the conclusion that it was above carrying out Don's commands the way it was supposed to, and until now, all the leads they'd been following up had taken them into dead ends.

"Agent Eppes?"

Don closed his eyes, fighting the urge to groan with exasperation over this new interruption. He would never get anything done today if things continued this way.

"That's me," he said, turning around and recognizing the harassers as two LAPD officers standing at his cubicle. He stood to shake their hands. "How can I help you?" he asked for politeness's sake while at the same time he was wondering if he shouldn't just have ignored them, pretending he wasn't who they were looking for. Then again, he wasn't sure if it could have worked. He was relatively certain he knew at least one of them, if he wasn't mistaken, he'd worked a case with him before just a few weeks earlier, with the younger one of the two, who had to be ten years his junior.

"I'm Officer Jim Harvey and this is Lieutenant Steven O'Brien," the young officer said with his elder colleague watching the proceedings. "We're here because of your brother Charlie."

Don frowned and crossed his arm before his chest. "If you want his help, you need to ask him, not me," he said, unable to keep the tone of his voice helpful and attentive. Did they think he was Charlie's secretary or what?

"It's not that. We found his car this morning and we're now trying to get a hold of him."

Don's frown became deeper. He could feel his hackles raise and a tingling sensation awaken in his stomach, but he chose to ignore those signals. "I don't understand. What do you mean, you found his car?"

"Wait a sec," the young officer said and was about to pull his cell from his belt when his partner held him back.

"I don't think he needs to see those pictures," Lieutenant O'Brien told him rather sternly before turning to Don and taking matters into his own hands. "I'm sorry, but right now everything points to your brother having become the victim of an accident. His car was found heavily damaged in a creek near Falling Springs and right now we're assuming that it has been in a landslide. Since because of the secluded spot where we found the car it seems likely that your brother was in the vehicle during the event, he's now considered a missing person, that is as long as we can't determine his whereabouts. Since danger seems to be imminent, the rangers in the area already started searching the terrain, but we still have to make sure that this is indeed a missing person's case if we want to conduct a proper SAR. That's where you come in."

Don just stared at him. He'd heard his words, but somehow, it didn't seem real, for this couldn't really be happening, not to him, not to Charlie.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed movement and his head jerked around, his sensory input strangely staccato-like and disjointed, as though his mind was dissecting stimulations from the outside, as though he was suddenly unable to bring order to the images, sounds and thoughts wavering in his brain.

" _What's_ with Charlie?" he heard Colby's voice, though it sounded strangely distant, almost as though he was talking to them under water. Only then did Don realize how badly his knees were trembling and he let himself lower into his office chair.

As soon as he was sitting, his mind became a little clearer, his sight more coherent and the atmosphere less thick. He was just gathering his wits to get to the bottom of whatever this was when Megan inserted herself into the conversation.

"Larry was with him!" she said. Her voice was strained, and even in the state Don found himself in, he could see in her face that she was fighting hard to keep herself from panicking. "Does that mean he's missing, too?"

Don shook his head and turned towards the LAPD officers. "You don't know that," he said with forced calmness and at the same time realized he had to pull himself together to articulate himself more clearly. "You can't know whether or not they were in the car during the accident, and anyway, maybe it wasn't even my brother's car to begin with."

That had to be the solution to this problem. This couldn't be happening to them, so the solution was that those two officers had made a mistake. It couldn't be Charlie's car, all this was just a big misunderstanding.

"We checked the license plate, and also the model matches," O'Brien replied and the simplicity and sobriety of his words hit Don like a wracking ball. They were reverberating in his mind, their echo bouncing off from one corner of his mind to another, never leaving, but never leaving him an opportunity to grasp them either. He realized that he was feeling feverish, he was jittery and his heart didn't feel quite right. At the same time he tried being sensible about this. Whatever those two officers were saying, there was surely a completely rational explanation for everything. Don just needed to cooperate with them as well as he could so they could clear this matter up as quickly as possible.

"You're right though," the lieutenant continued and Don forced himself to pay attention, "we cannot be sure that they were actually in the car during the time of the accident, and thus we cannot conclusively say that they are indeed missing. That's why we need you to try and contact them."

Don nodded mechanically. "Of course." Now things were starting to make a little more sense. They must have found the connection between Charlie and him, at least Officer Harvey knew they were working together, so they must have figured that stopping by the Bureau was the easiest way to determine Charlie's whereabouts. So that was all that he needed to do now, he just had to call Charlie and then this strange scene would turn into something they'd laugh about over dinner.

It would, wouldn't it?

When, however, his hand retrieved his cell from his pocket with fingers that felt clammy and numb and lost their grip of the device, making it clatter onto the desk, he had to allow for the fact that despite what his mind was telling him, his body had a logic of its own.

 _Stay calm_ , Don told himself, getting annoyed with his inability to do what needed to be done. _Stay in control._

Still, the thoughts in his mind wouldn't vanish, the same questions going round there like a carousel over and over and over again. What was Charlie's car doing in a landslide in the Angeles National Forest? And if they'd found the car, then why hadn't they found Charlie and Larry? There only seemed to be two options: either they hadn't been in the car when it had been hit by the landslide, but then where were they now, and why hadn't they called for help if they still were in a position to do so? Or they had been in the car when the accident had occurred, but then didn't the fact that they hadn't been found together with the car mean that they'd been hurled out of it at some point? And if they had, how badly had they been injured during and after that?

The beeps in his ear seemed to be getting louder and louder until they were stopped by the recorded message. Don clenched his cell harder at hearing Charlie's voice, but kept telling himself that this didn't have to mean anything. In effect, whenever Don called Charlie, his chances of reaching him were, statistically speaking, about as high as being confronted with his voicemail.

Statistically speaking.

He pressed his lips together. He'd have to tell Charlie later to always stay available via phone, otherwise he just caused unnecessary worry.

"Try his office," he heard Megan say behind him, her voice terse. He just nodded, not wasting energy on making it clear to her she wouldn't have needed to tell him that. He needed to cut her some slack. She was just worried, that was understandable. Exaggerated, of course, but understandable.

While he was waiting for his next call to connect, he could see in his peripheral vision that Megan was on the phone now as well, probably trying to reach Larry in his office, so they should soon have one of them on the line, surely.

Don pressed his lips together more tightly than before. Voice mail again. Half against better knowledge, he glanced towards Megan, who was just ending her phone call as well. He locked eyes with her and for the fracture of a second, it was as though he could see all of her inner life spread out before him – and she his. In this moment, their mutual fear connected them in a way that was almost eerie.

"What about his house?" David's voice shattered the volatile balance that had been created in the atmosphere.

Don shook his head, though had already started dialing. In fact, it seemed much more likely that Charlie was actually at Amita's place, as he'd surmised earlier. But maybe he'd come back to the house because he'd remembered his promise of taking their dad to the station? Maybe he'd just gotten the time wrong to do that? Almost four hours wrong, true, but anyway, there was a chance, albeit a slim one.

Or in any case, there had been a chance until the electronic beeps faded away without anyone picking up.

Alright, this had been something to be expected. He'd known that reaching Charlie at the house had been unlikely, there was no reason to panic just because his assumptions had turned out to be true.

"He'll be with his girlfriend," he told the people standing around him, not daring to look up at them, not wanting to see the look that he knew he too so often had on his face whenever he was questioning a missing person's loved one.

"Isn't she out of town this week?" he heard David ask over the beeps, making him turn his head towards him. "I thought she was on that conference in… Vegas, was it?"

Don was thunderstruck. David was right, he had completely forgotten that. So if Amita was out of town… then where the hell had Charlie been last night?

"Is there any other place where he might be right now?"

While his mind was still reeling with the implications of Amita's current whereabouts, Don turned to the officers. He shook his head, feeling like someone else had taken control over his body whereas he himself was still busy figuring out what on earth was going on.

"Every now and then he takes on a consulting job, he might be with whoever hired him this time." Even while he was saying the words, Don knew in his heart that he was grasping at straws. Even if Charlie was busy with some consulting gig, then why hadn't he come home last night? And why wasn't he answering his cell? And why would his car turn up in the middle of the Angeles National Forest?

Don shuddered when he realized that there was no explanation he could think of that covered all the facts. Short of a landslide.

"If you want us to continue the search, you need to submit a missing person's report," O'Brien reminded him of what they'd come here for. The commiserating timbre of his voice made Don even more nauseous than he already was. This couldn't be happening… "Once we have made this official, we'll be able to use more man power on the search and increase our chances of finding them."

Don nodded, trying to ignore the burning sensation in his stomach. He couldn't freak out now. There was still a chance that this whole thing was one big misunderstanding and that they were going to waste a lot of tax money just because his brother had never learned to leave his cell turned on. At the same time, the grim atmosphere made it hard on him to keep up his illusions.

"Alright then, thank you for your cooperation," O'Brien said when he and Megan had filed the reports.

"Hold on," Don heard himself say. He was feeling strange, like someone else was deciding over his body's actions and not him. "Let me see the car."

Lieutenant O'Brien frowned. "I really don't think –"

"I do," that ominous figure that had taken control over Don's body interrupted him. "I need to know what we're up against."

The lieutenant gave him an appraising look, then gave in. "Show him," he told his young partner, who hastily retrieved his phone.

The moment Don's eyes fell onto the picture, he would have liked to just give the cell back to its proprietor and pretend he hadn't seen a thing. He couldn't, though. His hands had stopped obeying him, as had his eyes. Thus, he was forced to stare at the picture of Charlie's car, or rather, of what remained of it. What only yesterday had been an embodiment of engineering craft was now a pile of junk that would have fitted much more on a car dump than in this natural setting. The windows were broken and the car's interior was full of mud and debris, filling the room that normally held the car's passengers. The doors were missing, the sharp edges where they should have been attached to the car's body bespeaking the violence with which they had been ripped off. In short, it was a picture of utter destruction, and Don shuddered at imagining the human equivalent of it.

* * *

 _The events of the past night, continued._

When the wall of mud and debris hit them, it was as though gravity had ceased existing. More than that, it felt as though their world had ceased to be describable by three-dimensional Euclidean Geometry. Whatever way the topology of this space was best described in, Charlie didn't know, but he knew it had to be complex and that he'd never come across anything like this before, otherwise he would have found at least some sort of system in this chaos. There was no order though, only raw forces playing with them as though they had been mere feathers in the wind.

Time was lost, too. All that existed was that topological chaos, and it seemed as though nothing else had ever existed before or afterwards. Then, however, something changed, there were contours again, there was order of some sort, there were points of reference, a possibility for orientation. The movement was slowing down, and it took Charlie a while to realize that it had actually stopped. There was quiet now, an eerie quiet.

He turned his head to get a better picture of his surroundings and immediately regretted the movement. The sharp pain in his neck and head brought him some clarity back though, made it easier for him to remember where he was and what had happened. Before he could fully grasp that, however, the pain was assailing him more forcefully, coming in waves that went through his entire body, unlocatable, uncontrollable.

Then it suddenly occurred to him that he wasn't alone in this mess. "Larry?" he asked, and when he heard his own voice, he shuddered. It was thin and tremulous and hollow, belying the poor state his mind and body found themselves in.

There was no answer and the pain was gone then, the rapid beating of his heart the only sensation he was aware of.

"Larry!" he called out more forcefully and tried getting to his friend. It was easier said than done though. Not only did it take him a second before his hazy mind had figured out that Larry had to be somewhere to his right, but his sight was impeded as well. True, there was still some light coming from the dashboard, but the car's interior was full of mud – well, half full – which didn't just restrict his sight, but also his movements. He was pressed hard against the driver's door and after a moment, he realized that the mud wasn't the only reason for that, that the car had to be lying on the side.

All that didn't matter now though. What mattered was getting to Larry.

The stabs in his neck became more vicious and something was stinging in his left leg when he freed his arms to reach out for his friend, but the adrenaline enabled him to see his plan through. For a moment, he hesitated, his hand hovering an inch above Larry's arm, afraid to touch him, afraid to find that the shell of flesh was all that remained of the one man in this world that was both a brother, father and friend to him.

When his hand made contact with him, he couldn't shake the waves of relief rolling over him when he found that Larry was still warm, although he knew that it didn't have to mean anything, that it took some time for a corpse to cool down.

"Larry!" he called again, the urgency making his voice sound strained and toneless.

His heart almost stopped when he thought he'd heard something, a soft murmur, or maybe just a sigh.

"Larry?"

A moan, now there was no doubt about it, and Charlie couldn't stop the tears that were filling his eyes. He closed them and told his heart to beat more slowly, afraid it might soon cease beating altogether otherwise.

"Larry," he repeated in order to get his friend's attention. "Are you okay?" His voice was low and raspy, belying the emotional stress he was under.

Another moan from him and then, to Charlie's great relief, words, weak and confused, true, but actual words. "...What? What happened?"

"We were in an accident," Charlie explained and at the same time started a more systematic attempt to regain orientation. Now that he knew that Larry was apparently more or less alright, it occurred to him that they had to do something about their situation, that they needed to get help.

"Charles?"

Charlie swallowed, telling himself that it was normal for Larry to be confused, that it didn't mean something was wrong with him.

"I'm right here," he replied, fighting hard to keep his voice stable. "We were doing research in the National Forest, remember? We just started to head back when we got caught in a landslide."

"Dear Lord," Larry sighed, and judging from the tone, Charlie was relatively certain that his friend did indeed remember.

"Are you hurt?" he asked and felt his heart beating faster again.

There was a moment of silence that made his nausea increase even further. "I'm not sure," Larry finally said. "My hand is… it really hurts. I'm not entirely certain about the other parts of my body."

Charlie closed his eyes to let that sink in. "We're gonna soon find out," he said, finding comfort in the realization that apparently Larry wasn't going to die anytime soon. "We need to call for help, and we need to get out of here. I'm not sure where we came to a stop, but if the car gets moving again, I'd prefer not to be in it."

"Where is your cell phone?"

"In my backpack," Charlie replied and was hit by another wave of relief when he realized that Larry was thinking straight again and working together with him to figure out how to get out of this mess. He hadn't realized until now how much the pressure had been wearing him down these past few minutes when he'd been thinking that he'd have to solve this problem and save both himself and his friend all alone.

The relief was swept away by a wave of despair when he realized that his backpack was in the trunk of the car and thus out of reach for the time being. They'd have to free themselves from the car on their own.

By now his eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness so he could see the outline of their surroundings even though the lights of his car were out, probably broken in the landslide. Even so, however, he could see that their situation was less than optimal. He couldn't see the road, just tons of dirt and trees, some broken, some still standing, and it suddenly occurred to him that their expensive equipment in the trunk was probably in the same poor state as the broken nature around them. Better not call Larry's attention to that though, he really had no energy left to build his friend up about that now.

The rain was still pouring and a little ironically, that made Charlie aware that his mouth felt as dry as the desert. For he knew that with all the water, the soil was less than stable, and only now did the accuracy of his earlier words hit him: they needed to get out of here. Otherwise, if there was another landslide setting the car moving again, they would be tossed about by the rough forces of nature again, and in that case their chances of survival would thin out fast. They were lucky to have survived that first landslide.

"We need to get out of here," he repeated and shuddered at hearing his own words. His voice was hollow, filled with fear. He swallowed thickly. "Can you open your car door?"

Larry tried. "I think it's stuck. Let me – ouch!"

Charlie tensed at hearing the pain in his friend's voice. This wasn't good. True, they were still alive and should feel lucky about that. But they were both injured. How were they going to free themselves from this pile of metal and dirt if they were both injured?

Well, the answer was simple really, wasn't it? If Larry's wrist was hurting him, then Charlie just had to lend him his. They just had to put their resources together. They'd always been a good team, so there was no reason why they shouldn't be able to work together now and solve this problem.

He bent over to Larry and as he did so had to stifle a cry of pain himself, which ended in drawing in a sharp breath. While twisting his body, he'd apparently moved his legs. It couldn't have been much, but it had been enough for his left knee to explode in a burning fireball of pain. Something was definitely not right with that, but Charlie pushed the thought aside. If they wanted to get out of here, thinking of what he was going to do with a knee like that once they'd accomplished this first task wasn't really something to keep his spirits high. Meaning 'high' as in 'above absolute zero'.

"Can you just pull at the door handle?" he asked through gritted teeth. "Then I'll push against the door."

Larry supported his effort with his right elbow, careful with his wrist, and after a couple of tense moments, they could indeed hear a reassuring metal squeak. The door was opening.

The next problem they were facing was getting out – not just out of the car, but also out of the mixture of earth, stones and parts of plants that was filling its interior. Even releasing their seat-belts wasn't as easy as they would have expected, but after some pulling and tearing, they were free at least from those.

"Just pull yourself up at the door frame with your good hand," Charlie told his friend, "and I'll help you with getting your legs out of the mud."

Larry nodded without saying another word and when he looked at him, it hit Charlie how scarily pale his face was. He wouldn't have been surprised if Larry had passed out from the pain there and then.

But he didn't, and it couldn't have taken much more than a minute or two until he was indeed out of the car. So now, it was Charlie's turn, and he swallowed nervously. While the pain in his neck had receded to a dull throb and a sting every now and then, he had the unsettling feeling that his knee wasn't going to be as fine with the upcoming action.

He tried concentrating on the feel of Larry's sinewy forearm under the firm grip of his hand, while his left hand was searching for something in the car's interior to pull himself out by. Before he got anywhere near the door, however, a cry of pain escaped him, evoked by the smoldering ball of fire his knee had become.

"Hold on!" he yelled at Larry, almost crying. He had to take a couple of deep breaths before he was able to talk again. "This isn't working," he then explained, still taking an effort to control the pain in his leg. "I don't know what's wrong with my knee, but the fact is that I cannot just pull it out of there. You just have to get to my phone first and call for help."

Larry, a serious look in his eyes, nodded. "Alright," was all he said, and Charlie shuddered. Neither of them was saying it, but the fact was that their situation was less than optimal. And if now he couldn't even get out of the car, if he was trapped in here…

His whole energy was focused on controlling his breathing that was laborious due to both pain and fear. Help would be here soon though, he just had to stay positive. He'd just have to wait for a little while and then it would all turn out well. In the meanwhile, he tried to distract himself by listening to Larry's progress on retrieving the backpack with his cellphone from the trunk. They were lucky that the trunk, instead of being tilted and stuck, was open, so retrieving the phone was actually easier than they had anticipated.

That was where their luck ended though.

"I don't seem to be able to get it working," Larry said and Charlie shuddered again at hearing his hollow voice.

"Give it to me," he said, unwilling to let go of his hope.

But whether unwilling or not, his hope was gone few moments later. "It's dead," he said, adopting the same hollow tone Larry had just used. His phone wasn't working. They were out in the middle of nowhere, stuck in a landslide, with no opportunity to call for help. They were on their own, and they were both in bad enough a shape already.

"I guess we'll have to get you out of there after all," Larry interrupted his gloomy and panic-inducing thoughts, giving his panic another direction to expand into.

He started shaking his head, remembering the pain from their first attempt, but before he could say anything, Larry went on, "I think that you were right earlier. The ground is unstable and I think there is a good chance it will set moving again, it's only a matter of time. You can't stay inside the car."

Charlie hesitated, biting his lip and trying to ignore how closed up his throat felt. Then he nodded. "Alright," he said and had a hard time believing he was actually consenting to being tormented with that agony again. His arm was trembling when he extended it towards Larry outside of the car, but in the moment before their hands touched, he pulled back.

"Charles, I realize –"

"That's not it," Charlie said quickly, "it's just..." He swallowed again, not at all sure he was doing the right thing. He was, however, mortally afraid of how this thing might turn out, so if he had a chance to improve his situation, he had to take it. "Just don't stop, okay?" he asked, suddenly feeling very small. "I'll probably… I don't think I can keep quiet during that. But if we have to do this, I want it to be done fast, so just… just pull, no matter what happens, alright?"

Larry didn't say anything, a single nod being his only answer.

Before Charlie was truly ready for him to start, Larry pulled, showing a strength Charlie wouldn't have thought him capable of. That was a thought that occurred only later though, because in that moment, there was nothing, no thought in his mind and no sensation other than the feeling of going through hell. It had to be hell, for it was an all-consuming fire, an agony that had no contours, no beginning and no end, and all he could feel was the unbearable longing to get away from this place. There was no getting away though, for there was no end, there were no boundaries, neither in place nor in time, torment being all there was.

"Charles?"

Strange. There was a sound, rather, there _had been_ a sound, for it was gone now, and that meant that time had started re-existing.

"Charles, can you hear me?"

There was a sensation, something other than the hell, the hell had moved to his leg now, had gotten boundaries, while someone was shaking him at his shoulder.

He opened his eyes and tried to focus his gaze, still gasping with the pain and realizing only now that Larry was bending over him, only gradually entering real life and leaving that hell behind.

"Did it work?" he asked and was startled to realize how weak his voice sounded.

"You're out of the car, yes."

Charlie swallowed and closed his eyes with relief and laid his head back in what he now noticed was a mix of mud and gravel. He was out of the car. The first step had been made.

Too bad he was so not looking forward to making any further steps.

Even worse that they didn't have much of a choice.

His eyes shot open again, finding Larry's concerned face hovering over him.

"We need to get some shelter," Charlie said, ignoring the look, and he hated himself for stating that. It was the logical thing to do though, otherwise this whole agony of getting out of the car would have been entirely senseless. For if the ground started moving, as could be expected that it would sooner or later, their chances of survival would still be pretty slim, inside the car or not.

"Forgive me for saying this, but you do not look like getting up would come very easily to you in your current situation."

A leaden weight was settling in Charlie's stomach. Unfortunately, Larry's observation was spot on. And yet, Charlie knew he himself had been right as well.

"I just need something to stabilize the leg," he said, going for a hopefulness in his tone he didn't quite feel and casting a look up the slope they had ended on. The steep and difficult terrain might actually turn out to be to his advantage, for it forced them to rather climb than to walk, which would enable him to make a good use of his hands as well. Which, in turn, were bad news for Larry. "We also need to take care of your wrist. I think if we manage to get to those rocks over there, we should be good, the terrain seems more solid there." Not that he could really tell from here, they were talking about a spot that was at a hundred yards' distance at least. Still, the rocks stood out against the night sky, and that was enough to keep him hoping.

Retrieving the first aid kit from the trunk was more difficult than retrieving the backpack had been, but still Larry managed within only a couple of minutes. In the meanwhile, Charlie had taken off his shirt and knotted it tightly around his knee, which actually made things a little better. Even the procedure of 'bandaging' itself hadn't been as painful as he'd anticipated. After all, he hadn't passed out from the pain, there was at least that. Initially, he'd considered using the material from the first aid kit also for his knee, but when he'd found that he couldn't even pull up his jeans over the swollen joint, he'd decided that a more makeshift, but stronger form of bandaging was probably the better solution.

Larry came back with the first aid kit then and to tell the truth, bandaging his wrist was almost more painful to Charlie than bandaging his own knee had been. Hearing his friend's sharp intakes of breath and his suppressed moans of pain made it very hard for Charlie to go through with his task. At the same time, he felt a wave of gratitude inundate him that Larry had seen through his attempt of pulling him out of the car without stopping, and he was adamant to return the favor, even though he realized that there was something twisted about this kind of friendly turn.

When he was done with Larry's wrist, he pulled some duct tape around the makeshift bandage around his own knee and even though it still hurt, he felt that he should be able to get moving now, at least if Larry helped him up and he didn't put any pressure on that leg. So together, they set out towards that spot where the ground was a little higher and much more stony than the soil they had been washed up upon.

The walk or rather crawl was excruciating. Both Larry's wrist and Charlie's knee were giving them quite some discomfort and they had to relentlessly encourage each other to go on, just a little further, to keep on fighting, for if they just kept fighting, they'd soon make it…

Afterwards, Charlie didn't know how they'd actually managed, but they did. Twice, they would have almost tumbled down the slope because it was just too dark to see where they were putting their hands and feet. Both times, they'd been able to win back their balance, but both times it had put a strain on their injured limbs which had started stinging worse than before.

Now, however, that suicidal hike through the night forest was only a bad memory, for they'd made it. They were lying there panting and exhausted on the cold, wet stone, but at the same time feeling strangely alive and enjoying the invigorating sensation of the rain drops on their faces. They'd made it. They had managed to get to some sort of safety, and if they had come this far, all hope wasn't lost yet. They were going to get back to civilization now.

Neither Larry nor him were voicing the fact that they couldn't be sure to be safe in this spot. It seemed rocky and thus solid enough, true, but they had no way of figuring out what was only a yard or two below their feet. Maybe there was soil as well, soil that could very well be washed away by the still pouring rain. There was no need to voice that thought however, for they both knew that their safety was only a relative one, and there was no sense in painting a more gloomy picture than they were already facing.

A couple of minutes had passed with them lying there panting before Charlie realized that Larry's breathing had calmed down considerably.

"Larry?" he asked, though feeling too exhausted to lift his head in order to look at his friend.

When he didn't hear a reply, but just his steady breathing, he sat himself upright after all. "Larry!"

The sharpness in his voice jolted his friend awake. "What?"

"We need to be careful," Charlie said and started trembling when the realization hit that he too had been moments from falling asleep. It made sense, in a way, it was way past midnight by now and the past hours had been both stressful and exhausting enough, on every level. Finding excuses, however, was of no use to them, not when falling asleep was potentially deadly to them. "We have to keep ourselves from falling asleep, or else we might develop hypothermia, and once our temperature drops below a certain point, we might no longer be able to go on and find help."

He hesitated for he didn't like the thought he was going to voice, but Larry showed that they were essentially thinking alike. "We should keep moving," he said and scrambled to his feet.

Charlie shook his head when he held out his hand to him. "I can't," he said, his voice almost a whisper. Then he cleared his throat, trying to add logic to his point. "Besides, we agreed that we shouldn't go on while it's still dark, it's too risky. And we should save our strength. We don't know how much further we'll have to walk to the next road. It's more reasonable to go on once the sun has come up, because it'll be not only safer to walk, but also easier to spot the nearest road."

Larry nodded thoughtfully. "That is indeed a valid point," he said slowly. Then he shrugged. "I guess the most natural plan would be to save as much energy as we can while at the same time keeping ourselves as warm as possible up to the point when one of us feels he's about to fall asleep. Once that is the case, we should get up again and move in order to let the blood circulate."

Since Charlie knew he wasn't going to get a better offer, he gave his consent, and so they crawled the two, three yards to the closest wall of rock to get at least a little shelter from the wind and rain, and snuggled up against each other in order to save as much body heat as possible.

Keeping themselves awake was a challenge, but Larry's plan did indeed work for a while. About every twenty minutes, they needed to get up and found that after something one might benevolently call stretching exercises, they would at least start feeling their bodies again and the icy numbness would go away for some time.

"It's almost five," Charlie remarked after what had to be the hundredth glance at his watch this morning. "It can't be long now before there's enough light so that it makes sense to move on."

"Sunrise is no sooner than half past six within our degree of latitude," Larry mumbled softly, apparently unaware that he was thereby blowing a massive dent in Charlie's hope. Or maybe he was aware, for he went on, "But of course, we should be able to see enough of our surroundings to continue our hike already some time before that."

Charlie sighed deeply and clung to his hope that they would indeed make it out of here. All they had to do was wait for morning to come so they could find the easiest way to the nearest road and then, all they had to do was to wait for someone to pick them up or follow the road to the nearest outpost of civilization, whatever came first. It was going to be fine, and the more certain Charlie became of that, the more tension would leave his body, until in the end, it yielded to the exhaustion, covering him with the soft, dark veil of sleep.

* * *

 _Present time_

Don was filled with a stinging sense of impatience and anxiety. He and Megan had taken the remainder of the day off and had just joined the search party that was still in the process of being established.

"I think you should call your dad," Megan said in a low voice when they'd reached the cabin where they were supposed to meet the ranger to start the search.

"I tried earlier," Don said and the sick feeling he'd had in his stomach when he'd been waiting for his father to pick up the phone was assailing him again. "I couldn't reach him, I guess he doesn't have service. Must still be on the train."

He tried not to think about the fact that by now, his dad had probably arrived in Fresno and that it thus made sense to try again to reach him. He managed to push the thought aside though until they finally had a new task. They were assigned the area where the car had been found, along with Lieutenant O'Brien and a local ranger.

The officers were still in the process of requesting more manpower to help search the area, but for now, the team was very limited. To make matters worse, other than the areas where they knew a landslide had occurred, they had hardly anything to go by as to where to look for Charlie and Larry. True, Megan had been able to provide some input as to what the two of them had been doing up here, for Larry had told her about the research he'd planned conducting, but the exact spot they had chosen to carry out their experiments or even the general area remained unknown. That was why they chose to start from the one point of reference they got, namely the spot where they'd found Charlie's car. With a bitter sense of gratification, Don realized that they should feel lucky they had at least that.

Assuming that the car had been washed down the creek, they had started in the reverse direction. However, it soon became apparent that this plan was much easier on paper than in the rough natural exposure. The car had been found at a spot where the road through the forest was making a sharp bend that brought it close enough to the creek to see the car, albeit from a couple of feet higher. Getting to the creek was difficult, but possible, whereas following the creek upstream to find the spot where the car had landed in the water seemed to be something that required wings or at least mountaineering equipment. Besides, the rain was still pouring, making further landslides a dangerous possibility that was not to be scoffed at.

Don didn't care about that though. By now his heart was beating constantly at this painful velocity that wasn't made for effectively pumping blood through his body, leaving his head slightly yet permanently dizzy and his body with a kind of weakness that made him feel like he was having a fever. He had no trouble interpreting those signs: fear. Whatever he'd been trying to tell himself until now, however hard he'd been trying to keep all the clues reality had thrown at him at an arm's length, he could no longer keep up his denial, not here where he could see the aftermath of last night's tragedy with his own eyes.

"They must have gotten out of the car," Megan said, not for the first time. "They must be somewhere in the area."

Don just nodded, not at all reassured by the tremble in her voice. Worse, he felt that they were slowly but steadily running out of time. It was now early afternoon and they still hadn't made any progress since this morning when the car had been found. Granted, they'd managed to eliminate some areas on the map, areas they had already searched and hadn't found the scientists in, but given the vastness of the area, those few crossed-out spots weren't something to give the FBI agents reassurance.

Even worse, Don couldn't shake the feeling that they were wasting their time. They were still pretty close to the car, yet they had no idea how far it had been washed down the stream before it had come to a stop. True, there was another team of rangers searching the area where the landslides had gone down, but from what the terrain looked like, there'd been more than one landslide last night. But no matter whether one giant or multiple smaller landslides, the area where the accident could have occurred was still scarily vast. They had to find them though, and fast, for who knew in what state they were? And even if they weren't injured, even if they assumed the best-case scenario, their clothing hadn't been fit to withstand this kind of exposure for that length of time.

Don shuddered. Before coming up here, he'd thought that finding Charlie and Larry should have been the least of their problems, that they just had to hope that they were okay somehow, despite of the state of Charlie's car. Now, however, seeing the vastness and impenetrability of this area, he felt his spirits sink.

* * *

 _A little while earlier_

The cold was the first thing he was aware of. It was all-encompassing, more of a state than a feeling. To be exact, there was no feeling at all, for he couldn't sense anything, the nerves in his body were so chilled they had become numb, there wasn't anything but the cold. In fact, the cold was so intense that he was aware of shivering before he was aware of being awake.

Being awake. There was something wrong with that. If he was waking up, that meant that he'd been sleeping, but that didn't seem likely. He never slept in cool rooms, he hated waking up or falling asleep in the cold. He always made sure that the room temperature of his current sleeping place was hardly below 65° F, thus scraping at the upper end of what was medically advisable. And _this_ was certainly nothing near 65°.

It wasn't until he opened his eyes that he noticed that more was wrong than just the temperature, and a moment later realization hit: he hadn't chosen this sleeping place voluntarily. They'd searched shelter from the weather, they'd made their way through night and rain, they'd been in a landslide.

They.

Larry's eyes were wide open an instant later and he sat himself upright, the cold forgotten. Before he had time to further analyze their situation, his eyes fell upon his friend and the cold came back with a vengeance then, an icy fist clasping his heart. There was something not right about the image his eyes presented to him. True, at first glance it might have seemed as though Charlie was merely sleeping, but something was off. He seemed too still, almost as though he had stopped breathing. Plus, there was this bluish tint of his skin that made Larry's hackles raise.

He extended a trembling hand, not sure whether the tremors that went through his body were caused by the cold or by fear or maybe by both, but not caring either.

"Charles," he said and started to shake him by the shoulder, then quickly drew back. Charlie was ice cold.

"Charles!" he repeated with more vehemence, his fear giving his voice a high pitch as he intensified his jolting. How could this have happened? They'd known that falling asleep would be dangerous in their situation, they'd been adamant not to fall asleep. And now… How long had they been lying there motionlessly? It must have been several hours, the sun was already up, it had to be late in the morning. Were several hours enough for the body temperature to drop below a point with no return? But Charlie was still wearing clothes, that had to keep him at least a little warm, right? On the other hand, they were drenched with rain, and when he saw that bluish marble face –

Larry thought his heart was going to stop when he realized that Charles was stirring. Stirring meant alive, right?

"Charles?"

There was a soft moan, but nothing else.

"Charles, you need to wake up."

"No..." was the mumbled reply. "Lemme sleep."

Words. That was good, right? But just as the thought occurred, another stab of fear hit Larry when he realized how wrong it was that Charlie's body should still be so inert. Contrary to himself, Charlie wasn't shivering, just lying there, his body doing nothing to produce the heat he needed. Did that mean that he was already one step ahead of him on the scale of hypothermia, one step further concerning the loss of his bodily functions?

"Wake up, Charles," Larry said, his voice sharper now, trying to fight the queasy feeling in his stomach. "We need to get moving. We need to get back home."

"Five more minutes..." was the mumbled reply, and Larry's desperation grew. Charlie didn't seem to be aware of the graveness of their situation. That was exactly what they had been afraid of, why they had done everything in their power to avoid developing hypothermia, because it impeded their effectiveness. Only that it wasn't true. _I_ _f_ they had done everything to prevent hypothermia, he wouldn't be in the situation of having to wake his friend up from what seemed less like a slumber and more like a stupor.

With a racing heart, he regarded his former protégé for a moment when an idea came to his mind. "I need your help," he said, watching the features on his young friend's face intently. "I need you to wake up so we can get out of here. I can't do this on my own."

It wasn't until the words were out that he realized there might actually be some truth to them. Even though he would never abandon Charlie here, whether or not he thought he could theoretically make it home without him, the crawl last night up to this place had shown him that they needed each other's company and encouragements to go on when it seemed senseless or beyond their power.

"Wha'?"

Larry flinched, but took comfort in the fact that Charlie sounded a little more alert now. Plus, his eyes were finally open.

"I need your help," he repeated. "You need to get up."

"Why?" Charlie asked, though was already struggling to get up on his elbows. Struggling and failing. Larry helped him up, practically supporting the entire weight of his upper body, and the queasy sensation in his stomach was spreading out there, settling in. How was Charles going to get to the nearest road when he was too weak to even sit himself upright?

"We fell asleep," Larry explained, trying hard to keep his fears at an arm's length. Panicking wouldn't do them any good now. "We need to get to the road."

Charlie nodded, apparently slowly understanding their situation. Then he started shivering violently, and even though the sight of it was a bit disconcerting, Larry was relieved to see that his body had not given up yet to keep him alive.

He gave him a minute until the shivering had become less intense before he made another attempt at going on. The sooner they got out of here, the better. "Can you get up?"

Charlie nodded and Larry felt yet another wave of relief wash over him when he saw that his friend's eyes had lost that empty stare and were back to taking in and analyzing their surroundings. Charlie was back.

"Just give me a hand?" he said and Larry did so with pleasure. Their situation was now similar to last night: they were hurt and miserable, but adamant to make the best of their situation and able to help themselves. They'd make it.

Charlie's sharp intake of breath and a low cry of pain made him freeze in his movement.

"What is it?" he asked fearfully, not liking the pained expression on his friend's face at all. "Your knee?"

Charlie nodded and had to draw in some breaths before he was able to control the pain and give him a reply. "Even got worse since last night," he wheezed.

"It can't be far to the nearest road," Larry tried to lift their spirits, although they both knew he had no reason to be so sure of that. Besides, they didn't know which direction to turn to. Going back to the road where the landslide had hit them was no option, since they had been hurled down a considerable distance. Going back up to find that road underneath the mud and then go on from there wouldn't just have required some mountaineering's equipment, but also more healthy limbs than they were currently calling their own.

Charlie just nodded though and left his arm in its spot around Larry's shoulders as they set in motion, careful not to put any pressure on his injured leg. Larry immediately stopped though when he heard another sharp intake of breath and felt Charlie's fingers clutch into his arm as though his life depended on it. And truth be told, it probably did.

"Are you..." Larry started, not sure how to finish his sentence. _Are you okay?_ That would have sounded like mocking him. _Are you in pain?_ He didn't need to ask that, the answer was obvious. _Are you sure you can make it?_ What point was there in asking that? They had to try anyway.

"Let's get moving," Charlie pressed through gritted teeth, dispelling Larry's doubts for the time being. Doubting wasn't useful. They had no other choice than to go on, so that was what they were going to do.

Saying that it was hard would have been an understatement. True, the terrain was less difficult than whatever jungle they'd wandered through last night, and it did also help to be able to properly see where they were putting their feet, but it was still far from a pleasant stroll in the park.

Larry's wrist, while still throbbing and stinging, didn't hinder his movements, which couldn't be said of Charlie's knee. It seemed to be causing him even more pain than the night before and even through Charlie's jeans, Larry could see that the swelling had become even thicker. He'd obviously had twisted it rather badly, although an injury like that should probably be dealt with fairly easily once they got to a hospital. The problem was getting there.

Every now and then, they would take a short break, although they were trying to restrict those to what was absolutely necessary. They were stretching their bodies to their limits, knowing that they wouldn't last much longer out here without water, food and warmth. Their muscles and bones had been screaming for a release, for this to end, ever since they'd started moving, but they didn't have a choice, they had to find help.

Just as Larry was wondering once again how much further they would have to hike in this most unpleasant fashion, something caught his eye. Was that –

"There!" Larry cried out and at the same time wondered whether his mind was playing tricks on him. It seemed too good to be true. "There's a road over there!"

He enthusiastically turned his head towards Charlie and immediately shrank back. Tears were streaming down his friend's face that had become a mask of pure agony. "Charles –"

"Keep going," Charlie interrupted him, wheezing. "We're gonna make it."

Larry nodded and fell silent, his joy over the good news somewhat dampened. They had worked their way through yet another stage of this odyssey, but they still hadn't reached their goal. Worse, looking at his friend, Larry couldn't imagine how they were going to make it much further. For a moment, he considered carrying him. Once they reached the road, keeping his balance even with the additional weight should be feasable. He didn't manage to fool himself, though. He was well aware that muscle strength wasn't his strong suit even under normal conditions, and right now, he was so exhausted he was lucky if he could keep himself upright. Plus, even though his wrist wasn't encumbering him a whole lot while they were simply walking, he knew that would change drastically once he'd have to use it, for example by lifting up his friend's weight.

They'd reached the road in the meanwhile and Larry's spirits were sinking further when he realized that it was more of a dirt track than a real road, one that was in pretty bad shape on top of it.

"Help me down," Charlie's groan directed his attention away from his musings and Larry hastened to help him lower himself on the ground and lean against a tree. His mouth was dry when he took in the sight of his friend. Charlie was leaning his head against the trunk of the tree, his eyes closed and pain and fatigue showing themselves clearly in the lines seaming his face. There was a layer of sweat on his forehead and now Larry remembered that when he'd helped him lower on the ground, his T-shirt had been soaked as well. All the while, his skin was still colder than any live human body Larry had ever touched. This wasn't good, really not good…

When he realized that Charlie's breathing was slowing down, he hastened to get his attention.

"Charles," he said, shaking him by his shoulder. He cast a way down the dirt track. They couldn't see how far it went, for it made a bent about only fifty yards ahead, but it had to lead to some bigger road.

Or straight into the undergrowth.

Larry pushed the thought aside. They had to keep hoping, and they just had to keep trying to find a way back to civilization, even though it was breaking his heart to do this to his friend, seeing the agony on his face. There was no way to help it, though.

"Charles, we need to go on."

Charlie shook his head, his eyes remaining closed. "You go. I can't."

Larry intensified his shaking. "Both of us," he urged. You can't fall asleep –"

Charlie's eyes shot open and he was looking at him with a clarity Larry wouldn't have expected at this point. There was moisture in his eyes and at first Larry thought that it had been the pain to put it there. His friend's next words, however, made him question that assumption.

"I realize we have to get out of here. But I'm… I'm done."

He locked eyes with Larry, and it was the earnest look in his eyes that scared Larry more than anything that had happened since last night. "I'm sorry, Larry." His voice was hardly more than a whisper. "You need to go on without me."

When the initial shock had abated, Larry started shaking his head vigorously. "Stop this, you know I won't –"

"Listen to me," Charlie interrupted him, the earnestness in his voice supported by a sense of urgency now. "I can't go on with this leg, and neither of us can hang on for much longer. I think it's pretty obvious that we're both running on sheer adrenaline right now, and that won't be holding for much further. We need to find help, and fast, and the fastest way to do that is if you go on without me."

Larry was about to raise objections, but Charlie wouldn't let him. "It's the most sensible thing we can do right now. Now that we found a road, you should be able to send someone to me fairly quickly once you found help." He made a pause to let his words sink in. "Just think, Larry. What would you tell me to do if our roles were reversed?"

Larry felt that his mouth was dry as he looked into his friend's earnest eyes. His mind was telling him that Charlie was right, yet his gut was insisting that this was entirely wrong. "But if –"

"Please, Larry. Please get us some help."

Larry's throat had closed up and he could feel a burning sensation in the corners of his eyes. He blinked rapidly to keep his sight unhindered and nodded, waiting for the knot in his throat to recede. He knew Charlie was right. He knew he had to find help, he wanted to find help, he wanted to take the most promising route to get them both to safety, but at the same time he felt unable to just get up and leave his friend behind.

"I don't think I can do this."

His voice had become hoarse, and his sight had become blurry, despite the blinking.

"You'll have to," Charlie said urgently, grasping Larry's good wrist firmly to lend weight to his words. "It can't be long until you find someone who can help us. Nothing's going to happen to me in the meanwhile. I'll just sit here and wait. We just have to split up for a little while to increase our chances."

Larry nodded, still blinking rapidly, yet trying his best to show the same amount of determination and confidence as his younger friend. "Alright," he finally forced himself to say. "Alright. You hang in there, okay? I'll be right back."

The relief and gratitude on Charlie's face made it a little easier on him. "I will. And you take good care of yourself."

Larry gave him another nod and then without further hesitation pulled off his jacket. If he was going to leave his friend behind, he would at least make sure to keep him as warm as possible.

"What are you doing?" Charlie asked, indignation showing through in his words. "No, you need –"

"Just take it," Larry cut him off as he put the jacket around Charlie's torso. "I'll be moving, you're not."

"But –"

"It's the most sensible thing to do," he repeated Charlie's earlier words and gave him a quick hug. "I'll see you soon," he said with more conviction than he felt.

He turned his back to Charlie, unwilling and unable to let the good-bye drag on for any longer. Thus, he was already at a couple of yards' distance when he heard his friend's last words, "Be safe."

* * *

 _The events of the afternoon, continued._

Don was feeling a little light-headed as he and Megan were following Lieutenant O'Brien towards the hospital entrance. That was also the main reason why he was able to pace himself and actually stay behind the lieutenant, being well aware that he was just volunteering on the search and had no say in this case whatsoever.

The news had reached them only a couple of minutes ago, and ever since then, Don had been feeling so tense he thought he might snap. Apparently the rangers searching the area where the landslide had gone down had found them, they'd just been in the process of taking them to the hospital. What Don, Megan and O'Brien didn't have, however, was detailed news about their condition. 'Alive, but in need of medical attention', was all the rangers had said, and Don was well aware that this could mean anything from low blood sugar to missing a limb.

"Hello Ma'am," O'Brien told the clerk at the desk, "we were told that two men who have been declared missing earlier today have been brought here, Lawrence Fleinhardt and Charles Eppes."

The woman typed something in her computer and few seconds later looked back at them, "Seems like they're still being treated in the ER, just along that hallway."

Don had hardly let her finish the sentence before he, accompanied by Megan, hurried along the corridor indicated, O'Brien following only a few steps behind after having thanked the woman at the front desk.

The emergency room was almost empty, save for a closed curtain at the far end and, directly opposite the entrance, the familiar figure of a respected scientist who was looking the worse for the wear.

"Larry!"

Megan's destination was clear, and so was Don's. Since the ER was otherwise empty, Charlie had to be the one lying behind the curtain, and Don felt his heart beat painfully in his chest imagining how bad things were, but he was determined to find out.

He tore the curtain open and froze. This definitely wasn't Charlie.

"Out!" the doctor treating the woman on the cot barked at him and Don was so flabbergasted that he actually let go of the curtain he was still holding in his hand.

"Sorry," he mumbled and turned around his own axis, wondering how he could have overlooked his brother in this not very spacious ER. He hadn't, though. Charlie wasn't here.

"Where's Charlie?" he asked as he drew nearer to Larry's cot. He glanced at the scientist's wrist with that makeshift bandage around it that definitely hadn't been applied in this hospital (or if it had, Don would make sure that Charlie was not going to be treated in this facility) and then took in the rest of the physicist's appearance. There were several blankets covering him and the sheer amount of them would have seemed a little ridiculous, only that there was nothing funny about the lines of pain and exhaustion on Larry's face. The doctor who'd been getting his readings had interrupted his task, apparently trying to figure out what to make of the three newcomers.

"Don, I'm..." Larry started, but hesitated for a moment which was too long for Don's current state of mind. True, even without talking to the doctor, he had no problem figuring out that Larry had seen better days, but that wasn't going to stop him.

"Where is he?"

The doctor shook his head and stood. "Sir, you can't just barge in here like this. I'll have to ask you –"

"FBI," he barked at the man, showing him his badge, "we're looking for a missing person. Where is he?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Don could see the doctor give a questioning look towards O'Brien, who gave him a quick nod. "That's correct," Don heard him say, but his attention was focused on Larry.

"I am so sorry," Larry said with a desperate tone in his voice that made Don feel like he was losing the ground beneath his feet. "I was sure that he would be here by now."

The confusion was adding to the fear, rendering the mixture a high-energy solution about to have an exothermic reaction. "What are you talking about? Where is he? What happened?"

"We split up," Larry said and Don ran his hands over his face, trying hard to remain calm and hear the end of it, unwilling to believe that he'd understood Larry correctly. They couldn't have split up, it just didn't make any sense. Why would they split up? Didn't they know the first thing about survival? Those two were supposed to be smart, damn it!

"He hurt his leg," Larry continued, "he couldn't go any further, so I went on without him."

The incredulity and angst that had been building up inside Don was a dangerous mixture that violently erupted now that indignation entered the mix. "You just left him behind?!"

"Don," Megan interrupted, "I'm sure –"

But both Don and Larry ignored her. "I'm sorry," Larry repeated. "I honestly thought –"

"I don't care what you thought!" Don yelled at him. "You're his friend, damn it! And now the one time he really needs you, you just abandon him!"

"Don –"

"Shut up!" he yelled at Megan and was about to go on yelling when strong hands were grabbing his arms from behind.

"Agent Eppes, I understand you're upset, but this isn't helping," the calm voice of Lieutenant O'Brien admonished him. "You need to calm down so we can get to the bottom of this."

Don was clenching his teeth. The bad thing was that he knew that O'Brien was right, and he knew he'd just thrown his professionalism out of the window. He hadn't been able to stop himself though, and truth be told, he still wasn't able to look at Larry. At least not if he wanted to make sure he wasn't going to strangle him.

He forced himself to take some deep breaths, trying to get his mind a relief from this and thus decided concentrating on the noises that could be heard from the hallway. Apparently a new patient was going to be brought in. If Don was lucky, that diversion would give him enough time to get his professionalism back. Regaining his dignity would also be a nice extra.

"Charlie!"

Don spun around at Megan's exclamation. His mouth was hanging open as he watched the medics wheel the patient in that was indeed none other than his brother, but he recovered quickly enough to be at his side even before they'd brought the gurney in place. When he saw that Charlie's eyes were open and looking back at him, he felt hit so hard by that giant wall of relief that he thought he might pass out.

"Don? What are you doing here?"

Don made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob and still wasn't entirely certain whether this was actually happening or if he wasn't merely imagining things.

"We've been looking for you," he said half as an answer, half as an accusation. When he saw the strain on his kid brother's face though, he found that accusation wasn't really what was called for right now. "Are you alright?"

He saw Charlie open his mouth, but there wasn't an answer at once. "Um..." he started hoarsely and Don knew that the correct answer was 'no', but the reply Charlie opted for was a rather inconclusive and slightly slurring, "I guess so."

So he was at least well enough to bend the truth, that was at least something, wasn't it? Besides, he was definitely alive, and only that little fact was already so much better than all those horror scenarios Don's brain had provided him with.

"I'm so sorry, Charles."

Both Don and Charlie turned their heads at that to look in the direction where the voice had come from, to Larry's cot. A contrite-looking Larry was searching Charlie's eyes, probably trying to find forgiveness in them. Don suppressed the urge to tell him to just shut up.

As it turned out, so was Charlie.

"Stop it, Larry."

"But –"

"We're both alright. We made the right decision."

Don frowned. This conversation wasn't going the way he'd expected. Charlie didn't sound angry or hurt, in fact, there was a kind of fondness in his voice that was bordering on tenderness.

"But you would have never done that," Larry argued, his eyes still searching Charlie's through the medics' bustle without paying attention to the onlookers of their conversation. "You wouldn't have left me alone."

Over the distance that still separated them, Charlie looked at Larry with such earnestness that not even Don dared to come between them.

"I don't know what I would have done if I'd been in your place, Larry. But I'm very grateful that you did what you did. You got us help. You got us out of there." He paused for the length of a heartbeat. "Thank you."

That, however, was too much for Don to take. "Charlie, are you nuts? He should have –"

"Were you there?"

Don gaped at his brother's sharp reply. As he looked into his brother's expressive and not entirely dry eyes, it became, for the first time since they'd arrived, apparent to him that whatever had happened since last night, it hadn't just been a physical, but also an emotional ordeal. An ordeal his brother and Larry had gone through together and come out of together. That outcome was a given, no matter what decisions had been made to bring it about.

"I'll make sure everyone is informed that the search is done with now," O'Brien quietly interrupted the tension and left.

Don looked after him, somewhat grateful to the man for glossing over the awkward moment, while he was still trying to figure out what he should do now. He tried making eye-contact with his brother, in vain. He wasn't sure whether he should say something or rather stay on the safe side and avoid putting another foot in his mouth, but before he'd made up his mind, both their attention was direct to the doctor treating Charlie.

"Alright, Mr. Eppes," he said, pulling the blankets back over Charlie's knee. "You seem to be stable enough, so we're going to keep you here until your core body temperature is back to normal, and then we'll have to get an X-ray on that leg of yours. What I can tell you already with some conviction though is that you're going to need surgery on that, so you should be prepared to stay at the hospital for another day or two."

"You should ask administration if they can put you in the same room," Larry's doctor piped up, "for I too don't need X-rays to tell you that you're going to need surgery on that wrist of yours."

"I'll see if I can do something about that," Megan said and pressed Larry's hand before she left. On her way out, she gave Don a hard glance that told him clearly what she thought about his earlier behavior and that she expected him to do better in her absence, and he couldn't help but swallow hard, his mouth being suddenly dry. That was probably what they called a guilty conscience.

With not only Megan, but also the doctors leaving their patients for the moment, it was suddenly very quiet in the ER, and Don immediately started feeling uncomfortable.

"Larry..." he started, but strangely didn't know how to go on. That rarely happened to him.

He cast a glance at his brother, who was still tilting his head so he could see his long-time friend. And while Don still wasn't clear on what had happened since their accident, Charlie's words and behavior had made it clear to him that at least Charlie himself wasn't blaming Larry for leaving him behind, on the contrary. And if Charlie wasn't blaming him, then what right did Don have to do so?

"I'm sorry, Larry," he said quietly. He hesitated, but if he was already apologizing, he could at least do it properly. "Charlie's right, I wasn't there, so I'm not entitled to judge you. I'm sure you did what you had to do. I shouldn't have said what I said earlier, I was just… I wasn't really thinking it through."

His heart was beating so quickly that it was making him sick until Larry ended his apprehension by a gesture of his good hand. "Never mind. Believe me, I can understand your indignation very well."

"What are you talking about?" Charlie interrupted the conversation, frowning.

Don shrugged, now feeling even more silly about how he'd treated Larry. "I just made a bad comment to Larry earlier."

The frown was still there. "What did you say?"

Don sighed, wishing he could just turn back time or at least wipe that scene from his memory. "I just said that leaving you behind might not have been such a good idea," he tried to wriggle out of it.

"What on earth –"

"Look, I get it now, okay?" he cut his brother off, desperate to let go of the matter. "I said I'm sorry. I was just… We were a little worried there for a moment, so I wasn't really thinking straight." _And that's the understatement of the year,_ Don thought to himself.

"I still fail to understand what took you so long," Larry interposed. "When the ambulance took me to the hospital, the police officer said that his partner had located you, therefore I thought you'd be right behind us."

"Yeah," Charlie sighed, "it didn't go that smoothly. Neither the police officer nor the ambulance could get to my by car because that dirt track was in too bad a state, so they had to take the gurney through the terrain over quite some distance and then... well, long story short, the whole transport took some time." He looked back and forth between his brother and his friend. "I'm sorry if that made you worry."

Before they could say anything to that, their attention was diverted by some orderlies who came in then to take Larry for his wrist being X-rayed. The goodbye between him and Charlie was silent and restricted to their eyes but, as Don observed, nonetheless heavy with meaning. He realized that it was probably going to take them some time to say good-bye to each other without being thrown back in this situation when their good-byes could have been their last ones – and not just the two of them. They'd probably all need a little time to recover from this shock.

"I'm sorry, Don."

His brother's quiet voice made him whirl around to him. "What? What for?"

"I shouldn't have snapped at you earlier. I'm… I guess I'm still pretty tensed up from everything that happened."

Don laid a hand on Charlie's good leg and smiled. "I guess we all are."

And then, just like that, he was rattled by the tearing sensation in his chest as he was looking down at his broken little brother. The exhaustion on his face was almost palpable, and Don tried to focus on his eyes. They too were heavy-lidded, true, but they were still open, still seeing the world, still being a part of it, and that was what mattered.

"You know what, you look like you could use a nap."

Charlie let his head roll from one side to the other, apparently attempting to convey the word 'no' with as little energy as possible. "The doctors will be here soon to take me to being X-rayed as well."

Don actually gave a little laugh at that. "It must've been a while since you've been to a hospital," he remarked. He lightly patted Charlie's good leg as he went on, "You're a patient now, and patients need to be patient. If I'm getting those numbers right, your body temperature still needs to go up some."

"But –"

"And once they're here to take you away, there's still time to wake you up," he interrupted his brother.

Charlie, while ready to drop if he hadn't been lying already, still didn't look convinced though.

Unwilling to get annoyed with his brother's stubbornness, Don opted for teasing. "Come on, just get some shut-eye. I'll make sure they don't take your organs while you're out," he said. "Or your brain."

"That's an organ as well," Charlie argued.

"That's why I'll make sure they don't take it. You should listen more carefully." There was the ghost of a smile on Charlie's lips and Don thought he was looking a little more convinced now, but his eyes were still open, and frankly, the fatigue on his face was getting on Don. "Last chance. Either you close your eyes now, or I'll have to punch you out."

"That's coercion," Charlie said, but his mumbling tone made it clear to Don that he'd finally given in. Even though, being Charlie, he still wouldn't be quiet. "Don?"

"Yeah?"

Charlie's warm brown eyes were looking at him so deeply as though they were seeing something inside of him, and maybe they were.

"Thanks," Charlie said. "I'm glad you're here."

Don's smile grew more sincere as he gave his brother's leg a little squeeze. "Anytime, buddy. Anytime."

\- finis -


	13. Manipulation

**Disclaimer:** I could try to manipulate you into believing that Numb3rs and its characters belonged to me, but alas, I'm too honest to do that.  
 **Rating:** We're about to delve into the depths of the human mind, so this is rated M.  
 **Timeline:** late season 3  
 **A/N:** Thanks for your reviews and suggestions! I already had this one pretty much written up since October and already have an idea for N, but still, both title ideas and reviews are always welcome.  
I consider this a brotherly whumping package. It's also a bit of an experiment. Might seem out of character, but I tried to make everything plausible. Let me know if I succeeded :)

 **Manipulation**

"Oh, good, you're all here," Don greeted them and led them into their temporary command center.

"So what is this, a hostage situation?" Charlie asked and hurried to keep up with him, with Amita and Larry following only a step behind.

Don nodded. "Started out as a robbery, but turned into a hostage situation when security cut off their escape route. About twenty hostages held by two perps, as far as we know, but we're still trying to get a better picture of the situation, so if you can think of anything that could help us with that, just shoot. You can set up in here and since this side of the building is facing away from the bank, you should be safe in here, but just do me a favor and stay away from the windows, okay?"

They mumbled their consent and Don couldn't help but notice that all three of them were looking pale and nervous. But pale and nervous was good, for pale and nervous would keep them in their cubbyhole. It was bad enough that he'd had to bring three civilians to the immediate vicinity of an active crime scene; the least he could do was ensure their safety.

"So what exactly is it that you want us to do?" Charlie asked.

Don ran his hand through his hair and looked back at his team in the other room, across the hallway. "We're still not clear on that," he admitted. "While the bank's security was informing the LAPD, the robbers themselves called the phone in the other room and informed the people working here about the hostage situation, telling them to call in the authorities. And, well…" He hesitated, but he knew there was no way he could keep this from his brother, so he'd better get it over with. "The thing is that apparently, the hostage takers asked specifically for me and the team to handle the case. And they said that it'd be a good idea to bring in our math consultants as well."

He tried his best to ignore the look of worry that crossed his brother's face. "Why would they ask for you specifically to handle the case? And isn't it a bit too risky to give them that? I mean, this could be a trap, right? How can your bosses expect you to just give them what they want and put yourself out there?"

Don repressed a sigh and put his hands on Charlie's shoulders. He'd expected a reaction of the kind, but that didn't make his brother's concerns any less exaggerated. "Relax, Charlie, we made sure this place is safe, and I don't have any inclination to put anyone of us in danger." He saw his brother's jaw clench and knew what was about to come, so he stopped him short, "Myself included." He made sure to lock eyes with Charlie and was relatively certain that his words had appeased his brother a little. Then he went on, "Right now, we're assuming that this is some kind of power play. Megan says they probably heard about our successes on the media and now want to show off by going against us, probably by somehow proving that they're smarter or better technically versed than we are, since they demanded to bring you in as well. And if that's what they're after, we should be fine, right, 'cause I don't know anyone who can beat our math trio when it comes to being smart."

He'd hardly finished talking when he heard the phone ring in the other room that told him that the hostage takers were calling from inside the bank. As he hastened to get back to his team, he gave Charlie's back a slap that he hoped to be reassuring, but he still heard him mutter something under his breath that sounded a lot like, "Yeah, no pressure, right". He bit his lip, but chose not to ponder his decision about bringing the three scientists in this situation, at least not now when he had to concentrate on the negotiation with the hostage takers.

They'd unanimously agreed on letting Megan handle the talking, one because of her specialties in psychology, and two because she was a woman and would thus probably appear less threatening to the criminals, especially since, if their info was correct, one of the hostage takers was a woman as well.

When they were all ready to take the call, Megan picked up the receiver, simultaneously hitting the speaker button.

"This is Special Agent Megan Reeves with the FBI, who am I talking to?"

" _Hello there_."

It was indeed a female voice that was coming out of the speakers, one that sounded strangely out of place. There hadn't been a whole lot of hostage situations in Don's professional life, but on those cases that he had been working on, the hostage takers had always assumed a tone that was far from what he was hearing now. This woman didn't seem to be tense or nervous at all, her tone was almost flirting, luring. On the other hand, that somehow fit their theory of their goal being a power play.

" _I'm just checking in with you,_ " the voice went on, still adopting a tone that was so casual it seemed grotesque. " _I'm really curious_ _to learn_ _how keen you are on ending this peacefully. So let me ask you, is everyone I asked to come there yet?_ "

Megan exchanged a short glance with her team members and then replied calmly, "Yes, we're all here, but we're still at a loss as to what we're here for, so why don't you tell us why you asked us to come?"

They could hear a smile in the woman's voice, and that was the moment when Don decided he hated this. There was something off about this woman, and whatever she was trying to achieve, there seemed to be a kind of malice and sadism about her that spelled deep trouble.

" _Oh, telling you would be spoiling all the fun for you_ ," she said. " _No, we'll be doing this differently. I'm going to call you back in ten minutes. That's the time I give Charlie to brief you about our connection._ "

Don frowned, his head jerking back to the door in which his brother was standing, his posture rigid, his face white, his eyes widened. The sight of him in combination with hearing her words caught Don off-guard so that he almost missed her good-bye, " _I'm looking forward to talking to you again_."

After that, there was just the quick succession of electronic beeps resonating in the silence.

From the corner of his eye, Don could see David turn his head away from his brother and in his direction, apparently expecting him to say something, but he hadn't found the right words yet – or any words, for that matter.

"What the hell was that?" Colby then asked, directing his words at no one in particular, and maybe that was why nobody answered him.

Don could feel that his mouth was still dry, but they had to act, time was of the essence. "Charlie?" he pressed.

His brother's stare shifted from the telephone onto him and only now did Don see the terror in his eyes, a terror that suggested that his brother had indeed some background information about this woman.

"You know her?"

He couldn't. This woman seemed to be nothing short of a psychopath. Charlie didn't know people like that, those were the people that maybe Don encountered on his job every now and then, but they weren't part of Charlie's life

And yet, Charlie nodded.

"She –" he started, but couldn't get another word out. Worse, Don noticed the flicker in his eyes, a flicker that he'd been familiar with for years and that meant that Charlie was about to panic, to lose his grip on reality and lose himself in his numbers, and that was something that Don couldn't let happen now.

"It's okay, buddy," he said, crossing the room with swift strides and taking Charlie's upper arms firmly, maybe a bit too firmly, since he was unable to just do away with the stress he was under. "Just sit down and breathe." He waited until Charlie did as he was told and since his brother was bending forward, his elbows resting on his knees, Don squatted down before him, trying to get into his field of vision. He needed him to focus now.

"That's good, just breathe," he said, fighting hard to hide his impatience. He knew that he would only make matters worse if he put too much pressure on Charlie now, so he tried his best to walk the thin line between caution and efficiency. "So who is this woman? How do you know her?"

"She… um..." Charlie was looking up now, his eyes flying across the room, but Don was relieved to see that there was some focus back in them, that they were directed outwardly now, not at Charlie's own mind.

"Everything you can tell us can be useful for us, buddy," Don said when Charlie didn't show signs of going on.

He saw his Adam's apple bounce as Charlie cast down his eyes, looking at his hands that were knotted together tightly. His voice was low and hoarse when he said, "She was a girlfriend of mine."

There was a high-pitched sound behind him that made Don whirl around and he was met with the incredulous stares of his team members. While he was still trying to understand what Charlie had said and, more importantly, how he could have heard him say what he thought he'd heard him say, Colby cleared his throat, apologizing for the sound of hysterical laughter that had come out of his mouth. "Sorry, but you're not serious, right?"

Charlie's head came up then to look at him, and if a face had ever looked serious, it was his.

Don shook his head. He had no idea why Charlie would be saying what he was saying, he just knew that all this didn't make any sense. If she had been one of Charlie's girlfriends, Don would have known her, and given how she was acting now, there was no way he could have forgotten her even if he'd only met her once in his life. "Charlie, what are you talking about? You were never that close to someone like that, why are you saying that?"

He watched his brother run his hands over his face and if he hadn't still been so perplexed by Charlie's latest words, he probably would have been relieved to realize that his brother seemed to have gotten a grip on himself by now, that the danger of him zeroing out was banned for the time being.

"It was shortly after Mom had died," Charlie said and although his voice was trembling, he was obviously keeping his wits together well enough to form complete sentences. He turned his gaze to the door where Amita was now standing, next to Larry, a frown on her face. "It was before we met and..." He cast a quick glance at Don, but immediately directed his eyes at his hands again, "And while you and I weren't really talking."

Don moistened his lips. He remembered that time, but it wasn't something he liked to think back at. On the other hand, his brother's words started making sense now. He'd been at odds with Charlie then, to put it mildly, he'd been angry with him for sealing himself off in his garage while their mother had been standing at death's doorstep. And then, after she had died, Don had had a lot on his hands with getting reconnected with his job after having put his family first during the last couple of weeks of her sickness, all the while struggling to deal with the loss on an emotional level. In short, he'd been too busy with himself at that time to have noticed what his brother had been up to and frankly, he hadn't really cared, or rather, he hadn't wanted to care. In all his life, however, he would have never thought that he could have missed a girlfriend in his brother's life.

"We weren't together for long," Charlie continued and Don forced himself to pay attention to his story, "just a couple of weeks. Six and a half, to be exact."

"Still, you seem to have made some impact on her," Colby noted dryly.

"What's her name? Are there any close family members that you know of?" David passed over his partner's comment. "We need as much info about her as we can get."

Charlie drew in a shaky breath, but complied with the task. "Her name's Cynthia Bale, she's from Las Vegas originally. No family members that she's close to, or at least she wasn't at the time. I know she grew up without her father, but she never told me much about him. She used to talk a lot about her mom, though, she hated her. I know she ran away from home when she was seventeen and kept herself above water with all kinds of jobs while she was getting her degree."

Don was back to shaking his head, trying to get it all in. "Degree in what? And how come you became a couple? How did the two of you even meet?" That alone seemed to be an impossible matter, since they seemed to be coming from two different worlds.

"She'd just accepted a job at CalSci, as an office clerk. We kind of hit it off."

"So you know her, too?" Megan asked Larry across the room.

While Larry was still thinking, his hand wandering up to thoughtfully rub his earlobe, Charlie shook his head. "Larry was in Europe at that time as a visiting professor, and Cynthia quit at CalSci as soon as I left her."

Don was shaking his head, again. He was still having a hard time getting his head around the fact that they were talking about something that had actually happened, but there wasn't much he could do other than accept the idea. In the meanwhile, he'd have to get his facts straight.

"So _you_ left _her_ ," he repeated. "Why?"

Charlie bit his lip, turning his attention back to his hands, and Don tensed his jaw, fighting impatience. Getting his facts straight didn't become easier when he had to worm them out of his brother.

"She..." Charlie started, but didn't go on.

"Talk to us, buddy."

"We need to understand what kind of person she is," Megan added, "so everything you can tell us about your relationship could be really important to us."

Charlie sighed and pressed his palms against the sides of his head. "She likes manipulating people," he said, his voice still trembling, but his tone firm enough. "Playing with them. She likes getting into their heads, figuring out how she can… how she can inflict the most pain on them. That's why I left her, I… I realized that she wasn't good for me."

"So that's what she did to you, inflict pain on you?" David asked.

Charlie swallowed and nodded, his head bent down, avoiding eye-contact. "Yeah."

"How?" Megan asked. "What did she do?"

"She, um..." He paused, searching for words for a moment, then shook his head, looking up at Megan with a pleading look in his eyes. "Is this really important?"

"It could be."

He sighed, shaking his head again. "She… I can't even describe it. It was mostly small things, like how she would react to something nice I would say or do for her. Or, you know, telling me she was disappointed in me, things like that. I don't know, she always found ways to make me feel guilty or unworthy or… I don't know, bad somehow."

Megan nodded. "Love denial, does that fit it?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess you could say that."

She was in her element now. "Then it makes sense that she would have asked specifically for you. The last power game she played with you she lost, since you managed to free yourself from her scheme of giving and withholding her love for you, and she can't bear to lose. So now, she wants to take revenge, she probably wants you to feel the kind of defeat she felt, she wants to show to both herself and you that she's superior to you somehow."

"Yeah, okay, that's what we've been thinking all along, but how –"

Colby's question was interrupted by a sound that made them all freeze: the ringing of the phone.

Megan exchanged a look with all of them before she picked up. "This is Agent Reeves."

" _Hi there_ ," Cynthia said. " _So has Charlie filled you in yet?_ "

Megan locked eyes with Charlie when she answered. "He has. That still doesn't tell us though why you asked us to come here today. And why you felt the need to pull all those people in the bank in on your plan."

" _Oh, these people are vital for my plan,_ " Cynthia said sweetly. " _You see, they're my way of keeping track of the time. For I've been waiting way to_ _o_ _long already to see Charlie again. I think it's high time we change that._ "

Don shook his head vehemently. This was _so_ not going to happen.

"If you wanted to see Charlie, then why didn't you just call him? You could have set up a date without making such a scene."

" _Aw_ _, Agent Reeves, I_ _really_ _hope you're just saying that because you think you can_ _make me_ _reveal some further information_ _by that_ _, or else it would seem that Charlie hasn't been very honest about our special connection. Can he hear us now?_ "

Megan was looking at the two brothers, waiting for a sign from Don how he wanted to play this.

" _If it takes you that long to find the answer to a question_ _that_ _simple, it means that he_ _can_ _,_ " Cynthia said cheerfully. _"_ _H_ _i_ _, Charlie. I have a nice little game prepared, just for you. Are you up_ _for_ _it?_ "

Don, and everyone else in the small room, turned their head towards Charlie, whose eyes were resting on his big brother, seeking support. Don gave him a slight shake of the head, hoping Charlie would understand that he did by no means expect him to make any acknowledgments to that person.

"What do you want?" Charlie asked, his voice still hoarse, but his tone more hostile than fearful, which actually gave Don some reassurance.

" _Well, I think that's clear now, isn't it? And come a little closer to the phone, I can_ _bare_ _ly hear you._ " Charlie stood and Don walked up with him to the desk the phone was sitting upon, trying to provide support. His hand was hovering over Charlie's back and this close, he couldn't miss the tremors that went through his brother's body. " _I want to see you again._ "

"Yeah well, the feeling's not mutual."

" _That's why I'm giving you a little extra incentive. I'm giving us one last chance to come back together today, and if_ _things really don't work out between us_ _, I swear to you I'm going to_ _end this peacefully_ _and let everyone go,_ _and_ _I won't be bothering you ever again. But I haven't given up hope for us yet. I'll be giving us another ten hours, what do you say to that?_ "

Don was frowning. He had no idea what this woman was planning, but judging from the tense muscles around Charlie's jaw, his brother wasn't quite as clueless as him. "What's going to happen within the next ten hours?" Charlie asked, mistrust evident in his voice.

" _Well, that's the best part._ _You see, my friend here has a_ _nice_ _little toy with him and I'm so curious_ _to see_ _how it works. So_ _for_ _that,_ _we_ _have twenty little guinea pigs at_ _our_ _disposal, and after every thirty minutes that you're not in here with me,_ _we're_ _going to test_ _our_ _little gun on one of them. If, however, you show up and we manage to put our differences aside,_ _the three of us_ _will leave_ _together_ _, and your friends can take all my little guinea pigs back to their families, safe and sound. Sweet, don't you think?_ "

Don could see that the knuckles of Charlie's hands had turned white as he was gripping the edge of the desk, but his tone was surprisingly controlled. "You're insane."

" _I think we both know that, Charlie. That's why we also both know that I'm going to act_ _up_ _on my threats, so I expect you to be here before the first thirty minutes run out. Oh, and before I forget, tell those snipers to go home, Agent Eppes. If I see another weapon pointed at me or my friend, I won't wait thirty minutes to test my gun. It's up to you, Charlie. This can end peacefully with no harm done, or this can end in a bloodbath, it's your choice. Your timer starts now._ "

After that, there was only the dialing tone.

Don automatically looked at his watch. They had to act quickly now. "Alright," he said, "Colby, make sure the snipers stay back, tell them to get a better vantage point so she can't see them anymore. Jackson," he addressed the commander of the SWAT team, who'd appeared in the hallway during the phone call, "your people need to prepare for attack, we need to go in there, but we have to make sure to get as close to her as we can without being seen. We need to take a closer look at the construction plans of that building for that." Jackson nodded briskly and was gone an instant later. "In the meanwhile," Don continued, "we need to figure out a way to make ourselves a picture of her exact position in the building, and of the position of her accomplice and the hostages. Charlie, you, Amita and Larry should try to access the bank's security footage or find another way to tell us something about that."

Charlie was shaking his head. His face was white and his voice was low, but his tone was firm when he said, "You can't be doing that."

Don grabbed his brother's shoulders, realizing that he was being too gruff, but unable to control himself. "This isn't the time to start arguing –"

"She'll kill the hostages," Charlie argued, freeing himself from Don's grip with a jerk. "She expects you to make an assault, so you can rest assured that she has a plan for that." His voice and his whole body for that matter was tense and trembling, but other than that, he was exuding a calm that was almost eerie. "She probably made sure that she and her partner can take out at least a couple of hostages before you can take them down – or before you have to abort the assault altogether because you realize you're putting too many hostages at too great a risk."

"Look, I know that, okay? But sometimes, we have to content ourselves with minimizing the loss. This is the best option we have –"

"It's not," Charlie contradicted quietly.

Don stared at him, unable to form a coherent thought, let alone words.

"I know I'm not an expert on tactical maneuvers, Don. But I know her. She thought this through. She has made herself an expert on tactical maneuvers, and she'll have a plan for every possible move you might think of. And she won't refrain from killing the hostages, or rather, letting her partner kill them."

Don shook his head. "That's why we need to stop her," he said, not wanting to hear what he knew his brother was about to say.

"And we can only do that if we give her what she's asking for."

There was a dead silence in the room and time seemed to be standing still. All Don could hear was the blood rushing in his ears and his own voice that sounded strangely hollow, detached. "You cannot be serious."

"She won't hurt me, Don, not physically. This is a power play –"

"We don't know that!" Don shouted, suddenly angry beyond measure. He felt like hitting Charlie in the face, or shoving him against the wall, doing _something_ to make him come to his senses. "This is about minimal loss, I sure as hell won't send another civilian in there!"

"She'll let the others go –"

"Only once you leave with her! And anyway, we can't believe anything she –"

"I know she's saying the truth!" Charlie interrupted him, his voice sharper now. Don could see that he was still trembling all over, he could still see the fear in his eyes, but more than anything else, those eyes bespoke determination that was bordering on grimness. "Most importantly, I know she's telling the truth about killing off the hostages, and I can't let that happen."

"This isn't your call –"

"She only brought you in to get to _me_ , and it'll be because of _me_ that she'll kill the hostages, and I won't let that happen. I can't let that happen."

A stubborn expression had entered Charlie's eyes and even though Don knew he couldn't let his little brother go through with this, he also understood what Charlie was feeling right now. That woman had put those twenty lives into his hands, of course he felt obliged to save them. However, his solution couldn't be sacrificing himself for twenty strangers.

"Look, Charlie," he said, telling himself to remain calm for his brother's sake despite the time pressure, "I get it, I understand why you feel you have to do this –"

"You don't understand a thing," Charlie hissed, effectively putting Don to silence. He didn't think his brother had ever used such a hostile tone with him, it just wasn't his nature. "You don't know her, but I do. She won't hurt me, but she'll hurt those hostages, so the solution is very simple, I'll let her think she won, and she'll release the hostages."

"But she'll only do that once you leave with her!" Why did Charlie not see that?

"If that's what she wants, that's what I'm going to do. Sooner or later, she'll grant me enough freedom so I can come back."

Don was staring at him, shaking his head, his desperation growing. His brother had lost his mind.

"Look, we're running in circles and we don't have time for that," Charlie said and Don thought that maybe someone had switched their roles. Why else did it suddenly feel like his little brother was calling the shots in an FBI operation? "Go ahead and see if you can find a way to get the hostages out, but I predict that you can't, and if you don't, I'm going in there – before she has time to kill anyone."

He had lost his mind, alright. Don was looking at his team a little helplessly, but none of them stepped up to help him stop his brother on his path of self-destruction.

His hopes went up high when he saw Megan take a deep breath, but her voice was so low when she spoke that he had to strain his ears.

"I think Charlie might be right."

Incredulity didn't even begin to describe what he was feeling.

"Just think about it, Don," she continued. "After everything we know, it would make perfect sense. She's experiencing the ultimate power, the ultimate control over Charlie's life by forcing him to comply with her demands. Yet, control over his life won't fill her with the gratification she seeks if she just brings him in there to kill him. Actually, she'd have more power over him if he stayed out here, because that would put the decision about how he evaluates his life in her hands. If he goes in there on his own account though, it's his decision."

"That's not a decision, that's coercion!" Don shouted. He could feel he was about to lose it. Were they all going insane? "Charlie has no reason being in there, he's an outsider and a civilian, there's no way we can send him in there!"

"You're not sending me, I'm going in there on my own account," Charlie said. "And I'm not an outsider. Those people are being held hostage because she wants to talk to _me_ , so I'm about as involved in this mess as I can be."

"But you don't have any obligation –"

"I do!" Charlie interrupted him vehemently. "The moment she gave me the power to make a decision, I stopped being an outsider and I started having an obligation to those people! If one of them dies today because I didn't show up in there, it'll be my fault, and I can't… I can't have that on my conscience."

His voice broke at his last words and Don averted his eyes, unable to see the look of anguish on his brother's face. He turned his back on them, deciding to give himself a break from this and get an update on Jackson's progress over the radio. He just had to calm down and then they would figure out a way how to deal with this. So alright, he could understand Charlie's point of view, he knew that his brother wouldn't be able to live with himself if somebody got hurt today. He would hold himself responsible for today's outcome, no matter what other people said, and Don knew his brother, he knew that having to live with this would break him. So it was clear that Charlie was desperate, but that didn't mean they could let him go through with this, there had to be another way, they just had to find a way in.

However, what he heard from Jackson made his heart sink. " _We can't find a way i_ _n_ _and none of us can see them, they must be in one of the inner rooms_ _in the basement_ _with no windows, probably in the surveillance room, which means they got their eyes everywhere while we can only guess where they are. It'll take us a couple of seconds at least to get in there. That's a lot of time even if we decide to use smoke-bombs."_

Don had put two fingers on the bridge of his nose, massaging it. There had to be another way, he just couldn't see it. He just had to think...

"Charlie, you know you can't go in there," he heard Amita's voice behind himself, trembling with fear, the shock still evident in it. "It would be insane."

The relief that there was someone else on his side didn't come, though. Of course Amita wouldn't want Charlie to go in there, but that didn't bring them any step closer to figuring out what to do. The dilemma persisted, saving the hostages was their job, their obligation, they still had to find a way to get them out of there without putting Charlie at risk.

His heart almost stopped when the phone rang again. He whirled around and was about to pick up the receiver, moved by fear and anger, but Colby held him back to let Megan handle that.

"This is Megan Reeves again. Did you change your mind?"

" _I have to say, I'm a little confused,_ " Cynthia said. " _Is our connection really so bad that my message didn't get through to you?_ "

"You said you'd give us thirty minutes!" Charlie said and they all could hear the panic in his voice. "We still got time!"

" _He's_ _so_ _cute_ _when he's getting all worked-up over something, don't you think, Megan? Anyway, I'm intending to keep my word, but I'm still seeing far too many guns out there. You got another five minutes to get rid of those, otherwise we'll start off the timer right away. Oh, and by the way, you'll be happy to hear that I have chosen my first guinea pig. Would you like to get to know him, Don? I can call you Don, right? I mean, I'm practically your sister-in-law._ "

Don clenched his jaw so hard that he could hear his teeth gnawing. He knew she was just trying to provoke him, but that didn't stop her words from having the desired effect on him.

" _His name's Miguel. Come here, Miguel, why don't you tell those people on the other end how old you are?_ "

There was some rustling coming through the speakers and a hiccuping sound, but it was still Cynthia who did the talking. " _Come on, don't be shy._ _So h_ _ow old are you?_ "

The voice was small and vulnerable, interrupted by sobs. " _N-nine._ "

Don turned away from the phone, running a hand through his hair, exasperated. He'd seen this coming, he'd expected her to use what she could get her hands on to make them comply more easily, but the realization that she was just trying to put pressure on them didn't change the fact that she still had a lot of aces up her sleeve. Twenty, to be exact.

" _Wow, nine years old_ ," Cynthia went on. " _Now tell me, Miguel, what do you want to be when you'_ _re_ _grow_ _n_ _up?_ "

" _A-a_ _f_ _-_ _fir_ _e_ _fighter_ _._ "

" _A_ _firefighter_ _, now isn't that wonderful? Such an acute sense for public service at such a young age. Well,_ _Agent Eppes,_ _it's up to you if he can fulfill his dream. My price is still the same, and I think_ _you're all_ _making a very good bargain. His life and the nineteen others for one little conversation with Charlie. I'm waiting._ "

Then, there was the dialing tone again.

Don closed his eyes, trying to think. He couldn't. His mind was thinking the same things over and over again, running in circles that wouldn't get him anywhere. He had to do something to stop her from acting on her threats, but she had the upper hand, there was nothing they could do short of complying with her demands, and that was something he couldn't give his consent for.

"We should start prepping him now," Colby's calm voice pierced through the thick silence and Don's eyes shot open, firing daggers at him.

"What are you saying?"

"We need to keep open as many ways of action as possible. If Charlie goes in there, we need to make sure we have done everything in our power to minimize the risk for him."

"Just shut up, all of you!" Don shouted and watched them flinch. Damn. He was losing his composure. This was dangerous, he had to calm down, he had to get his head back in the game, and fast. "Just let me think for a minute, okay?" With that, he stormed out, away, somewhere he could breathe again. He just needed some quiet to think, that was all, there had to be a solution to this problem somewhere and if he just had a minute to think, he would find it.

* * *

"Here, put this on, under your shirt, then we can hide one of the microphones in there," Colby said, handing him a bulletproof vest.

Charlie took it, trying to ignore how badly his hands were shaking. This was all going much too fast, he would have liked to do without the hectic bustle.

"Charlie, please," he heard Amita's desperate voice next to him, but kept himself from looking at her. He had to see this through.

"I'm sorry. But she won't hurt me, not physically, I promise."

He could hear the tears in her voice as she turned to the three agents. "Why don't you do something? You can't let him go in there!"

"It's his decision," David said as he attached a second bug to the strap of Charlie's wristwatch.

"I need your shoe, Charlie, for the GPS device," Megan said and Charlie swallowed. He was starting to feel more like a cyborg than himself and to tell the truth, now that things were becoming serious, Don's ardent defense of his position was getting to him. Maybe his brother was right after all? He _did_ have more experience with criminals than Charlie. And yet, Charlie was still convinced that he was reckoning up Cynthia's character correctly, and he was convinced he was right about his estimate of her future actions. On the other hand, it couldn't hurt to make sure.

"Do you think I'm making a mistake?"

The three agents bustling around him froze in their movements and exchanged a glance. It was David who voiced their worries. "Charlie, if you're having second thoughts about this –"

"I'm not," he hastened to say. "It's just… I'd just like to have a second opinion, from someone who knows what he's talking about. Someone other than Don."

He could once again feel the glances they exchanged, but this time, it was Colby's turn to voice their joint opinion. He squatted down in front of him, an intense look in his eyes that Charlie felt to the bone. "Look, would I go in there? Yeah, but that's not the same thing. I have been trained for situations like this, and I swore an oath to protect and serve, and that's part of everything I do and of every decision I make. But would I go in if I were you? I really don't know. That's a decision only you can make."

Charlie nodded. That was enough for him. If the training was all the difference there was between them, there was no real difference at all, not in this case when he knew his opponent as well as he did.

"Okay," Colby said after a moment of silence, "now all that's left is your earpiece. We'll try to stay in contact with you, but it's possible that she notices the device and once we can no longer be sure she can't overhear us, we'll have to stop using this path of communication. We'll still be able to hear what's going on at your end as long as the microphones are in place, but you won't be able to hear us, you'll be on your own. So if you think this whole thing is getting too scary after all, now is the time to say it."

Charlie pressed his lips together and nodded, waiting for his voice to come back. "I'm ready," he said then, feeling a little as though someone else had taken command over his body. Was he ready? He didn't really feel like it.

He stood on knees that felt like rubber and hardly noticed the reassuring slaps the team would give him on his back while he concentrated on avoiding making eye-contact with Amita, but when he turned towards the door, he froze. Don was standing there. For a moment, the brothers just stared at each other. It was a silent stare, for every pro and con they could think of had already been put out in the open, there was nothing more to say. All that was left for them to do was make a decision.

"It's been twenty-five minutes," David said, his voice very low as though he was reluctant to disturb the silence. "Whatever we're going to do, we need to do it now."

"You need to trust me," Charlie said quietly. His gaze was shifting between Don, Amita and Larry and he had to fight hard to remain in control over his emotions. "I know what I'm doing." There was a giant lump in his throat and maybe that was what made his voice sound so strange. It felt as though he was betraying them, for he did know what he was doing, he knew her, he knew what she was capable of, but they had no time for discussing this further and he just had to go through with this now if he didn't want to have innocent blood on his hands. "Just please… trust me."

He could see Don bite his lip as Amita rushed towards him to hug him fiercely, tears streaming down her face. The soft feeling of her body was filling him with yearning, whereas the fingers she was clutching in his back made his apprehension of what was about to come increase. It felt like the most difficult thing he'd ever done in his life to free himself from her, and if she had continued clinging onto him, he probably wouldn't have managed. She let go, however, looking at him with eyes that bespoke all the love she felt for him even though she wasn't able to pronounce her feelings out loud, just like he wasn't, not when fear and worry were constricting their throats. And so, he turned away from her, desperate to get out of here and see this through. Larry too gave him a heartfelt hug so that now, the only thing still standing between him and the bank was Don.

"Please," Charlie said, his voice only a whisper now. "Please let me go." He couldn't stand the idea of having to face Cynthia again, especially under these circumstances, but much less could he stand the idea of hearing a shot ring out from the bank and knowing that his own hesitancy had just cost someone his life.

Don gave him a brief nod and pulled him into a quick, but fierce hug. "Take care," he said in so low a voice that Charlie might not have heard him if they hadn't been so close at this moment. Before either of them could change their mind, he walked briskly out of the building and towards the bank.

* * *

Don was concentrating on his breathing, his own and Charlie's. He was still standing in the door, but Megan had turned up the volume from the bug in Charlie's vest, so he had no trouble following on what was going on. He could hear the soft whoosh of the sliding door and knew that this was it now, Charlie was inside the bank.

He felt his knees buckle and had to find himself a chair. What on earth had he done? This was a mistake. He should have never let his brother go in there. What had he been thinking? He should have never given his consent for this! If he'd just had a moment of quiet, he would have understood that he couldn't let him do that, why hadn't he seen that? What –

" _Hello?_ "

Don's heart skipped a beat. Charlie's voice came over the speakers loudly and clearly. Everyone in the small command center held their breath, straining their ears to make sure they were staying on top of what was going on inside. The next words were only a muffle, sounding like something like " _We're o_ _ver here!_ ". That had to be Cynthia, for the next thing they heard were Charlie's footsteps making their way through the bank with a little more purposefulness than before until they came to a halt.

"You're doing great, Charlie," Megan told him over his earpiece while David left the room to instruct their technicians at the office to gather further information on Cynthia Bale. "Just make sure to stay aware of your surroundings and take your time with every step you take, don't rush things."

" _Charlie!_ _How good it is to see you,"_ that hateful female voice then came over the speakers, and Don clenched his hands to fists. _"_ _You haven't changed at all._ "

There was a pause and Don imagined his brother standing there in the door, taking in the sight that had to be greeting him. He could probably see the hostages now, at least if they were right in assuming that Cynthia and her partner were holding them all in one room, which seemed reasonable enough.

" _Why are you doing this?_ " he heard his brother say.

" _I told you. We're meant to be together,_ _Charlie_ _. I just thought I'd give you a little incentive to_ _come back to me._ "

" _You_ _need to_ _let them go._ "

" _All within due time,_ _my dear_ _. You need to be patient. Now, what do we have here?_ "

Don clenched his hands harder, his fingernails digging into his palms. He'd been afraid of this, of that woman taking away the few safety measures they had been able to provide Charlie with.

" _Alright, you can keep the vest if you think you have to._ _Personally,_ _I think it's a little silly, but each to their own._ _I guess they bugged you, too? That's alright with me. It's kind of_ _thrilling_ _to know_ _that our reunion should have such a great audience, don't you think? Now, any GPS devices? Never mind, we can see about that later. Right now, I'd like to see if they were stupid enough to give you a gun."_

A rustling sound could be heard and a second person breathing into the microphone. Don felt his stomach turn at imagining how close she had to be to his brother right now.

" _Oh yeah, I've missed th_ _is,_ " he heard her say, feeling his bile rise at the sensual timbre of her voice, seeing in front of his inner eye how her hands searched Charlie's body for a weapon or maybe just for sexual gratification, who knew. He cast a glance at Amita, who was sitting in a corner of the room sobbing softly with Larry's arm around her, comforting her. On her face too he thought he could see disgust, but he couldn't be sure. Her features were contorted from crying.

" _Alright, now that we know that there are no firearms standing between us, let's celebrate our reunion. But before we do, you need to take that earpiece off._ _I want to be talking to you, not to_ _that_ _Agent Reeves._ "

The agents in the small room exchanged a look. "It's okay, Charlie," Megan said quickly, her voice tense. "You're still in control and we'll still be here and have an eye on you."

There was no answer from Charlie, just the rustle that told them that the earpiece was being removed.

" _Very good. Now let's go. I know how uncomfortable strange_ _rs_ _make you feel. You stay here to guard them."_ That last phrase had been spoken in a completely different tone and hadn't been as loud and clear as the rest, so Don assumed it had been directed towards her partner. He was still trying to understand the dynamics between the two of them. Cynthia seemed to be the alpha of the duo, but why was her partner playing along with her whims? Was he a psychopath as well, or was he merely going for the cash? The insecurity made Don feel even more nervous. What if he'd just sent his brother in there with not only one, but two psychos?

" _Where are we going?_ _Or are we staying here?_ " he heard Charlie ask and forced himself to concentrate on what was going on.

Cynthia sighed. " _I_ _really_ _hope th_ _is_ _i_ _sn't an attempt to secretly convey to your friends outside a mapping-out of our locations, for if it_ _i_ _s, you really need to step up your game."_ Her next words were a little louder. _"_ _We're right outside the room with the hostages, Don, so_ _they're still very well looked after_ _, but we're now finally save from prying eyes."_ There was a pause and again some rustling, apparently they were sitting down. " _So tell me, Charlie, how are you doing?_ "

" _You mean in general or right now?_ "

Don could tell that even though Charlie's words were conversational enough per se, his tone was still guarded, and truth be told, he was overjoyed to hear the mistrust and hostility in his brother's voice. Charlie obviously knew how to deal with this woman, he wasn't shrinking away, but not provoking her either, this was good, this was reassuring.

" _Always the mathematician, eager to_ _do away with_ _an_ _y_ _kind_ _of ambiguity_ _. Both_ _then_ _. Are you scared?_ "

Charlie didn't answer at once. " _A little_ ," he said then.

" _That's what I've always loved about you."_ They could hear the smile in Cynthia's voice. _"You're always so honest. Even when you're stretching the truth with your words, your_ _eyes can never tell a lie_ _._ _I wish all people could be like that._ "

" _What do you want, Cynthia?_ " Still hostile, still trying to find a peaceful solution without making too many concessions.

" _I'd just like to have a little chat with you,_ _reconnect with you_ _._ _I've missed you, Charlie. And I think that over the last couple of years, you've thought about me a number of times as well."_ She made another pause, but the objection Don was waiting for Charlie to utter didn't come. He moistened his lips, fervently hoping that this didn't mean anything, that his brother's mistrust and hostility towards this woman were still unaffected. _"So how are you doing these days, on an overall level?_ " she went on.

" _Pretty good._ "

" _Yeah?_ _I'm glad to hear that._ _So_ _how's it going in the love compartment?_ _Y_ _ou'_ _ve_ _got a girlfriend?_ "

Charlie paused for the length of a heartbeat and Don clenched his fists again. _Don't answer that,_ he thought, fervently wishing his brother could read his mind right now. _Don't give her anything to work with._

When Charlie's answer came, he let out the breath he'd been holding. " _I really can't see how this would be your business._ "

" _Come on, don't be so difficult. It's just a question. Girlfriend – yes or no?_ "

" _Yes._ "

Don closed his eyes and buried his head in his hands.

" _Now isn't that just lovely. So, what is she like? Do you deserve her?_ "

Charlie gave a little huff at that, which made Don look up at the speakers and renew his trust in his brother. " _What are you doing? Why do you always have to keep doing that?_ "

" _Doing what? I only asked you a question._ "

" _You're trying to make me feel bad. Th_ _is i_ _s_ _exactly_ _what you'_ _ve been doing_ _when we were together, you would always dissect every small aspect of my life and make it seem that I was worthless somehow, or pathetic, or… I don't know._ "

" _Is that how I made you feel? You never told me that._ "

Charlie was silent.

" _You should have told me,_ _Charlie._ _We could have talked this out. Still can, actually._ "

They could hear Charlie emanate an irritable sigh and Don started breathing a little more easily. " _What is this about, Cynthia? What are we doing here? Why did you come back now, after all th_ _is time_ _?_ "

For the first time, it was Cynthia who didn't reply at once, and Don frowned. What was she trying now?

" _I needed a friend_ ," she said eventually, and if Don had been able to forget the situation she had put them all in, he probably would have felt pity for her in that moment. He felt his skin crawl at the realization that the simple change of her voice's timbre affected him so much. " _My father just died._ "

Charlie didn't answer immediately. When he did, there was a sincerity in his voice that Don didn't quite know what to think of, it felt wrong somehow. " _I'm sorry for your loss._ "

" _I believe you."_

There was some more silence before Charlie said, _"_ _You never_ _talked about him much_ _._ "

Cynthia sighed. Her voice sounded almost a little dreamy when she replied, " _I know. I_ _t was easier not to think about him, so I tried to forget about him_ _._ "

" _Why_ _?_ "

" _I never told you that he_ _abandoned_ _me and my mom, right? I was really small then,_ _only_ _about_ _three or four._ _But_ _I never forgave him_ _for_ _that._ _You can't just make a family and then go away as though it was nothing._ _And t_ _hen, a couple of years later,_ _when_ _he finally remember_ _ed_ _that he had a family somewhere, he_ _started_ _wr_ _i_ _t_ _ing_ _me letters, wanted to talk to me. I never reacted to those._ _And then, maybe two years before I met you, he_ _reached out again, he_ _told me he was sick, Parkinson's. Apparently he thought that would make me show him forgiveness, but I mean, why should I have forgiven him? I mean, Parkinson's or not, he'd still been a_ _complete_ _ass for ten years, he'd ruined my childhood._ _Do you know what_ _tha_ _t's like, growing_ _up_ _without a dad?"_ She laughed, but it didn't sound happy. " _What am I saying, of course you don't know what that's like._ _No, you'_ _ve_ _always had it all."_

"She's telling the truth," David quietly put in, informing them about what he'd learned from his phone calls with the office he'd been taking every now and then. "Howard Bale died last month."

Don tore his eyes away from David and back to the speakers when he heard Charlie's voice, still frowning, still trying to figure out what Cynthia was getting at with this.

" _So_ _if that's what you think of me,"_ Charlie replied, _"then_ _why did you choose to talk to me about th_ _is_ _, of all people?"_

" _Because I knew you'd understand._ _We both know that we have a special connection, Charlie, so don't deny that._ _And I thought you might help me deal with the guilt, you know, especially seeing how you're apparently coping_ _so_ _well with everything now."_

Don's frown became harder. Suddenly, this was going a little too fast. He felt like he was missing something. What was she talking about? What would Charlie understand, and what guilt and what coping was she referring to?

" _So how did you do it?_ " Cynthia pressed when Charlie remained silent. " _How did you let go of the guilt?_ "

More silence. Don bit his lower lip. Why was Charlie not answering? Was he struggling as well to understand what she was referring to? That had to be it, right?

" _You did let go of the guilt, right? You told me you were_ _doing_ _fine_ _these days_ _, or was that a lie after all?_ "

More silence, then Charlie's voice, cool and dismissive, " _You can't compare that._ "

Don turned around to the others as though he could read in their eyes what his brother and that woman were talking about, but all he could see there were the mirrored expressions of his own confusion and insecurity.

" _Why not?_ _You have to admit, the situations are very similar._ "

" _B_ _ut_ _I'_ _ve_ _never held a grudge against my mom._ _I didn't turn my back on her because I wanted to punish her,_ _I just couldn't stand see_ _ing_ _her suffer._ "

Don was shaking his head with confusion, still looking around the room as though someone here could explain to him what Charlie was talking about. They couldn't, of course, not if this had something to do with their mother's death, for none of them had been there at the time, not even Larry, who'd been in Europe. In fact, Don was the only one who could have added some background information about Charlie's situation during those months. He couldn't, though. All this talk about guilt and coping was news to him, he had never known that Charlie was apparently blaming himself for not staying with their mom during the last few weeks of her sickness. All he knew was that he himself had blamed Charlie for that at the time.

" _But then wouldn't you have been feeling even more guilty than I am doing right now? I mean, she never gave you any reason to hate her, and still you let her down._ "

He heard Charlie draw in a shaky breath. " _I know. But I'm over that now. I made a mistake and there's nothing I can do to change that,_ _so_ _I_ _just_ _have to_ _put_ _that behind m_ _yself_ _."_

" _Wow. That sounds… I mean, if you can really stand above it all, kudos, Charlie. I just would have never believed that was possible, not after seeing you struggle with your guilt like that._ _I mean, wasn't it you who told me about all those studies showing how stress contributed to cancer? And how much stress you caused your mo_ _m_ _when she had to maintain a second household while she was living with you in Princeton,_ _away from her husband and her_ _eldest_ _son_ _?_ "

Don was shaking his head, again. What was she talking about? Where was she taking that from? It wasn't true, Charlie had never felt like that, he'd never said any of the things she was referring to.

Not to him, that is. But he and Charlie hadn't really been talking much then, so what the hell did he know about how his brother had been feeling?

" _S_ _peaking of Don, I have to admit, I'_ _m curious._ _H_ _ow are things_ _between the two of you_ _? Did he forgive you_ _eventually_ _?_ "

The frown was back on Don's face. What was she getting at now? Forgive him for what? For how Charlie had acted in those last weeks of their mother's sickness? But Charlie knew that Don had stopped being angry about that ages ago, right?

He bit his lip when the silence stretched on for several seconds, which was far too long for a simple question like that.

" _I don't know._ "

Don buried his head in his hands, feeling like pulling his hair. Why did Charlie say that? He had to know that whatever had happened back then was no longer an issue, that things between them were okay now, right?

" _I mean,"_ Cynthia started and Don would have liked to bury his head deeper, deep enough so he wouldn't have to listen to her anymore. By now he'd realized that there wasn't anything good coming from that woman. _"_ _F_ _rom what I know about him and_ _about_ _how he treated you, it would surprise me, to say the least._ _But then, it also came as a surprise when I found out that apparently you're working together now. But then I figured that you're probably just trying to make up for your mistakes of the past, right,_ _especially_ _for robbing him of his mom?_ "

Don stood, his agitation making him pace the small room nervously. Why was that woman saying that? It wasn't true, he and Charlie were okay now and Charlie knew that and Charlie was working with them because he wanted to, not because he had a guilty conscience!

Right?

" _You know what, Charlie? Don't get me wrong, but to me it seems as though you're not really_ _at a_ _better_ _place_ _than when we were together. You just seem to have gotten better at shutting your eyes from the truth."_

Her words were met with silence and Don felt his hackles raise. What was she doing? Why was she saying all the wrong things? And why wasn't Charlie saying anything to counter her words?

Then, however, it occurred to him what Charlie had told them about her. This was what she did. She liked making people feel bad. Saying all the wrong things was part of her scheme, she was trying to twist the knife in his wounds, trying to twist everything to make things seem much worse than they actually were. And Charlie knew that, he'd warned them about that himself, he knew what he was up against, he knew that things weren't as grim as she made them seem.

Don was just hoping that he was still aware of that.

" _Don't do that. Please_."

He shuddered at hearing his brother's tone. His voice was low and soft, almost a whisper, but the worst part was the fear he could discern in those few words. He began pacing again, running his hands over his face. This wasn't going well. They had to abort this, they had to get Charlie out of there somehow, he couldn't leave his brother in there with that woman any longer, not when she was making him feel so scared.

" _Do what? Why can't you see that I only want to help you? Charlie, everyone who sets eyes on you and really cares to look can see how miserable you are,_ _and I can't stand the idea of that._ _I have to say, w_ _hen you left me, I was really downcast for a while, but then I thought, maybe it was better_ _this way, better_ _for you_ _I mean_ _, maybe you had found something or someone in your life to make you happy, or at least less miserable. But I can see_ _now_ _that's not really the case, is it? You don't seem to have any close friends, your girlfriend is way out of your league and you know it, and your brother still despises you, whatever you do to try and get his appreciation."_

The shock in the small room was deep-seated, Cynthia's voice the only thing resonating in the silence. This was absurd. It wasn't true, and Charlie knew it.

He knew it, right?

" _None of them really care about you",_ Cynthia went on, _"and_ _you know it._ _Actually, t_ _hat's_ _the worst thing_ _about it all,_ _that_ _you_ _know it, but_ _don't_ _have the guts to accept that_ _."_

" _They do care about me,"_ Charlie contradicted, but his voice was husky, making the words sound less than convinced, and it was breaking Don's heart. Charlie's earlier words were ringing in his ears, tingling, making him dizzy, _She won't hurt me, Don, not physically_. It only occurred to him now what Charlie's words really meant, that when they'd been forced to make a decision, they'd been facing a danger that was more comprehensive than physical harm. He hadn't thought about that at the time, though, he'd only been worried that his brother's assessment could have been wrong, he'd been scared that she might physically hurt him after all. He'd never stopped to wonder what else she might do to him, and now that he realized his negligence, he felt as though his guts were dissolving into thin air.

" _Charlie, sweetheart…"_ she went on and Don felt nauseated at hearing her false sympathy. " _I know it's difficult, but you just… I mean, let's_ _just_ _think about this rationally, alright? Let's examine their feelings towards you from an outside perspective._ _For example, how did they react when you told them –"_

" _Don't."_

Charlie's voice was trembling, so much that the tremble could be heard even in that one syllable.

" _What?"_

" _Don't say it. Please."_

Don shook his head, searching the eyes of his team members. They had to abort this. If Charlie –

" _Why not?"_ Cynthia interrupted his train of thoughts. _"I know you're not exactly proud_ _of_ _this, but_ _it's extreme situations like these that show us who really cares about us and who doesn't. So what did they say about the attempt?"_

All of a sudden, the air seemed to be sucked out of the room. Don was standing there, rooted on the spot, trying to keep on breathing and failing, feeling as though he was going to suffocate. He didn't hear an answer to Cynthia's words, but he wasn't sure whether Charlie was silent or whether his own mind had stopped functioning, whether it had just sealed himself off from the weird things happening outside. He was feeling hot, feeling like he was losing the ground beneath his feet, while at the same time he was desperately trying to tell himself that this was just a misunderstanding, that they weren't talking about that, for they couldn't be talking about that, for Charlie had never… There was just no way. Don would have known. Don would have seen it coming, he would have prevented it, there was no way Charlie had ever attempted –

" _They don't know?_ " Cynthia whispered and Don felt his nausea increase, felt like throwing up. " _You never even told them_ _that_ _you tried to kill yourself?"_

Don closed his eyes tightly as he fell down into that endless abyss, endorsing the blackness, wishing that he could get the same blackness for his ears, that he could erase the record and forget what he'd just heard.

He couldn't, though.

His eyes popped open, desperate to find some help, to find someone who'd tell him that he'd just gotten it wrong, that she was lying, that this wasn't really happening, that it had never really happened. What he saw, however, were five shocked faces having just as much difficulty to understand what was happening as he was having.

" _How can they not know? I thought they were your friends, your family?"_

Charlie didn't reply anything to that, but his heavy, irregular breathing told Don enough because it told him that it was all true, that it wasn't a misunderstanding and neither was she lying.

He felt the corners of his eyes burning. As much as he despised that monster, he realized that her question hit the confusion in his mind spot-on. If they were really saying what Don thought they were saying, if Charlie really had… How could Don not have known? How could none of them have known?

He shuddered and then started trembling all over, unable to control his body's response while his mind made the realization that made him feel like he was having a fever, like someone was boiling his brain and letting it vaporize. Charlie… If what this woman was saying was true, he should have lost his brother years ago. All those past few years, all the progress Don thought they had made in their relationship, would have never happened. If everything had gone according to plan, Charlie would be dead right now, Don would have just woken up one day to learn that his brother was gone because he had decided to end his own life, and Don would have been taken utterly by surprise, because in all his life, he'd never known his brother to be desperate enough to do something like that. Now, however, he had to realize that apparently, he'd never known him at all.

His gaze shifted towards Amita sitting in her corner. The shock was still evident in her eyes and Don didn't know whether to feel relieved by that or even more saddened. Had anyone of them ever really known his brother?

" _Charlie…_ _you know I love you. I've always loved you._ _Actually,_ _I'm probably the only one_ _besides your mom_ _who ever loved you, seeing how I was the only one being there for you when you were at your lowest._ _But if you're as miserable as you seem to be,_ _as miserable as you were then_ _… I just can't stand seeing you suffer like this any longer."_

For some seconds, all they could hear was Charlie's breathing, the tremble in it, those laborious efforts to maintain control. _"_ _I don't understand what you're getting at."_

His words were low and raspy, hardly audible. Without fully understanding what was happening, Don knew that he had to do something, that he had to stop this, but found that he couldn't. There was no strength left inside of him.

" _Oh, Charlie, why can't you stop whining just once! You understand perfectly well what I'm getting at._ _What I don't understand is why you have to hide from the truth all the time instead of facing it like a man."_ There was a pause and her next words were a little clearer, she must have moved closer to him. " _Life isn't easy, Charlie, I know that._ _But it's just a fact that some people are better suited to handle whatever life throws at them than others, and I think we can both agree that you'_ _re not really a master in handling life._ _That's okay,_ _maybe_ _it's not even entirely your fault, but you should at least learn to accept that._ _I mean, can't you see that you're pulling everyone around you down_ _with you_ _? And that's the problem, just because you're unable to handle life on your own doesn't give you the right to cling to everyone around you, just like you'_ _ve been clinging_ _to me when we were together._ _You know, it wouldn't_ _be_ _so bad if you didn't know what you_ _we_ _re doing, but we both know that you're smart enough to realize how miserable you make everyone around you_ _feel_ _, and that isn't merely pathetic, that's egotistical. Just think of your mom,_ _you always told me how guilty you felt for being the reason for her having to move away to the East Coast, but you don't seem to have learned a thing from that, you're doing it again. You're clinging to Don although you know he still despises you, you'_ _re_ _cling_ _ing_ _to your girlfriend although you know she could do so much better, and you'_ _re_ _cling_ _ing_ _to people you call friends, but who don't even know the first thing about you,_ _because you know they would turn away from you as soon as they knew you better_ _._ _This is pathetic, Charlie, and you know it."_

Nobody in the small, airless room was making a sound, but as their eyes darted from one to another, still seeking support and clarity, those eyes were screaming with shock and fear and anger. How could that woman say something like that? Where did she take the nerve from to make such allegations? _She_ was the one who didn't know the first thing about Charlie, for she was wrong, this was all wrong, why didn't Charlie just tell her that?

And yet, she had a point. None of them had known about the suicide attempt. She had. What did it say about their relationships to Charlie that they didn't know something as vital as that, but that lunatic monster did?

The silence was stretching on painfully. As they sat there waiting for him to make it clear to her how wrong she was, all they could hear was Charlie's breathing that was strained and irregular, until the tension was broken by the sound of his voice, _"_ _I don't know what to do._ "

Don bolted from his chair, not sure what he wanted to do, but Charlie's tone, the sheer amount of despair he'd heard in those few syllables, told him that he had to do _something_ , and fast.

"We need to go in," he said while at the same time, the monster in the bank went on talking with that voice that seemed sweet as sugar, but was as deadly as poison, " _You can do it, Charlie, you have shown it that you can._ _You can break free from it all,_ _you can release them_ _, and then there'll be no_ _more_ _pain ever again,_ _and no more guilt_ _._ _All you_ _need_ _to do is be brave for once, and then_ _you'll be free._ "

"We can't," David said. "We'd be risking everyone's life, Charlie's too."

"Don't you get it?!" Don shouted. His tone was hysterical, but he didn't care about that. "Can't you see what she's doing? Charlie's a risk to himself! We have to stop this before it's too late!"

He was staring at his team, wondering what was wrong with them, why they were just sitting there doing nothing, why they would still hesitate to follow his orders, but that didn't matter now. All that mattered now was to keep his brother safe, he just had to go in there now, he had to keep Charlie from doing something stupid.

He was almost out of the door when he was pulled back hard. "Don't be an idiot!" Colby was shouting at him. "You'll get everyone killed, including yourself!"

"Let me go, this is my –"

The fist came out of nowhere and a second later, Don was sliding down the wall, his face starting to prickle, then to throb. His fingers automatically went to his nose and came back bloody. It was that sight that cleared his fuzzy head and gave him a sense of determination back, making him struggle to get back on his feet. "Granger, you're –"

"You need to calm down, Don," David cut him off while he and Colby were grabbing his arms roughly, pressing him against the wall.

"Let me go!" Don heard himself shout as he tried to jerk out of their grip. All his pulling and jerking was of no use however, not when he was outnumbered. "We need to –"

"You need to calm down!" David repeated, sharper now. Yet, he was still displaying a calmness and efficiency that was getting on Don's nerves. What was wrong with them? How could they be so calm about this? And why would they still hesitate to get Charlie out of there, away from this monster? Why wouldn't they help him?

"We can't have you going rogue now," David continued, "you'd be signing the death warrant of everyone in there."

"I'm not –" Don started, but his air supply was cut off when he was thrown hard against the ground. He lost orientation for a moment and when he regained it, he had to realize that they were in the process of cuffing him. They had him prone on the floor, their knees in his back and on his legs, and they were cuffing him, robbing him of the freedom he needed to get to his brother.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" he kept shouting. "Let me up at once, this is –"

"Cut it out!" Colby shouted back, and the sudden vehemence actually made Don fall silent for a moment. "Going in there would be insane, and you'd see that if you started using your brain again!"

"You can't –" Don started, still struggling against their hold, but it was of no use.

"You're not thinking straight, Don," David explained, still with that unnerving mix of calm and sharpness. "Trust us, this is for your own good. You got him?" he asked his partner before he stood, leaving Don pressed to the ground by his own subordinate while across the street, a lunatic was trying to convince his little brother to take his own life.

Don let out an inhuman cry and took one last effort to fight off Granger, in vain. Then, all his hope and energy left him, leaving behind only that frangible shell filled with dark despair and screaming fear. Unable to keep up his facade, he crumbled and pressed his face against the rough carpet floor, succumbing to the tears.

"What happened in the meanwhile?" he heard David ask as he took his seat next to Megan again. Don turned his head in an attempt to shut his ears, too afraid to hear the answer, but there was none, none verbal, and the relief that single fact evoked within him felt so wrong that it made him sick.

But then, only a moment later, the other sickness was back, the nausea evoked by an unspeakable fear and impotence as the words from Charlie's microphone reached his ears, " _I'm scared._ "

" _I know you are, sweetheart, but I'll be there with you. There's nothing to be scared of, it'll be over in the flash of a moment, you won't feel anything at all._ _And I'm going to be there with you throughout the whole time._ _"_

A pause, then Charlie's broken voice, _"Promise?"_

" _I promise."_

Don could taste blood, but it took him a second to realize that it didn't come from his nose, that he'd been biting his lip so hard the skin had broken up. He didn't feel the pain, though, he couldn't. It was too insignificant compared to the hell that was raging in his heart.

This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.

" _So you're ready now?_ "

There was no sound coming from his brother before her voice could be heard again, " _Give him your gun._ "

" _What? No way! A_ _re you insane?"_

Hearing the sane voice seemed just as unreal as listening to that monster. It was a male voice, that had to be the partner, and Don was filled with an unbearable level of impatience and yearning. He needed to hear Charlie's voice, he needed to determine –

" _If you wanted to give him_ _a_ _gun, you should have brought one yourself_ _instead of this dummy._ _"_

" _It's just a gun, don't make such a fuss about it."_ Her voice was hard now, dismissive. _"Look,_ _you got two options, either_ _you_ _stay here with us or you_ _take your share and_ _go, I don't care._ _But either way, you're going to give me your gun now, or you know what I'_ _m gonna_ _do._ _"_

In the depths of his mind, Don became a little clearer on how the relationship between the two robbers was working, Cynthia apparently had something on her partner, enough to blackmail him into complying with her demands, at least to a certain degree. However, this wasn't a realization he could grasp clearly at this moment. Right now, there was nothing clear to him, there was only chaos, and all he could concentrate on was the painfully rapid beating of his heart.

" _And where am I supposed to go? We're surrounded!"_

" _Like they're going to stop you when I've got a room full of hostages with me."_

" _You're insane."_ A pause during which Don didn't think his heart was beating at all. _"Okay._ _Okay then._ _I'll go. You hear that, Agent Reeves or what_ _ever_ _your name_ _was_ _? She'_ _ll_ _kill the hostages if you don't let me go. Alright?"_

" _Stop being such a wuss, they know they can't go after you. Now_ _go."_

"We need to get ready to go in," Colby said, making Don flinch. He knew Colby was right, yet his words filled him with a kind of fear the intensity of which he'd never felt before in his life. "We need to apprehend the partner, and once Charlie has the gun, we need to risk the assault."

" _Alright…_ _just wait until I'm gone before you give him the gun."_

"David and I will go in with SWAT, you stay here with Don," Megan said.

"No," Don protested, albeit weakly. He'd realized by now he was too close to this, he was aware that he'd only be a risk to everyone in and outside the bank if he was part of the raid, and he knew he had to accept staying behind. But having someone else taken off the assault team for no other reason than to watch him was just too much to bear. "You go with them, Colby, just leave me here, I'll stay here, just go."

Megan remained firm, though. "Sorry, Don, but you can't be trusted right now."

With that, she and David were out of the door and Don closed his eyes again, swallowing hard. He laid his head back down on the floor, his forehead resting against the rough carpet, concentrating on his breathing, on fighting the dizziness and the nausea and the tearing sensation in his chest.

"What's going to happen now?"

Don shuddered at Larry's words. There was something off about them, something not right that revealed just a tiny fracture of this far too real horror spectacle, and only a moment later Don realized what it was: fear. In all his life, he'd never known Larry to be so frightened. Insecure, sure. Nervous. But never frightened.

From his undignified position on the ground, he craned his neck to look at him, and judging from the expression on his face, Larry was feeling about as sick as Don himself, and in his eyes, he could see a sadness that told him that they both had to be thinking the same thing. They should have known what had been going on with Charlie at the time, they were the only ones in this room who had to put that on their conscience, the only ones who'd known him long enough, the only ones who could have prevented the near-catastrophe. Still, they hadn't had the faintest idea of how close they'd scraped past a tragedy, of how miserable Charlie had been at the time, how much he would have needed their help.

"We'll just have to wait," Colby's voice interrupted Don's train of thoughts.

The simplicity of Colby's words seemed absurd in their tense state, for right now waiting seemed the most difficult thing one could ever imagine to do. Maybe that was why in this moment even Amita broke her silence, her voice wavering and unsteady, betraying the effort that the mere act of speaking was taking her in the poor state she now found herself in.

"Why did he do that?"

Don swallowed. That was the one question that had been tormenting his mind ever since they'd learned about the attempt, and he still hadn't found an answer. Before anyone could try finding one though, there was Charlie's voice again coming from the speakers and reverberating in the silence.

" _It's heavy._ "

Don closed his eyes again, yet tried fighting off the images that would come to his mind. So Charlie had the gun now. He had the gun and he was miserable and there was still this woman who kept telling him he should –

" _You have to keep in mind that t_ _hat's a good thing. You're on the safe side with a gun like that. With a smaller caliber, you might end up alive and disabled. That one's a safe bet, though."_

" _You should stand further back, or you're going to_ _g_ _e_ _t_ _all bloody. I don't like the idea of that."_

Don was pressing his lips together. This was wrong. There was a serenity in Charlie's voice that made him more scared than anything else.

" _You're always so considerate of others, Charlie. I love that about you, but it's just another reason why this world isn't the right place for you."_

This was going too fast and Don knew it, they weren't in position yet, and now any moment –

" _FBI! Freeze! Nobody move!_ "

David. Relief was washing over Don, rolling over him in giant waves, but his body was still trembling all over for he knew it was too early to feel relieved, for Charlie still had the gun in his hands, and as long as he had –

" _Cynthia Bale, you're under arrest for attempted robbery and..."_

Don closed his eyes more tightly, ignoring the agent giving her the speech, ignoring everything around him, the rough carpet, the airless room, Colby's weight on him, focusing just on Megan's calm and controlled voice.

" _You need to give me the gun now, Charlie."_

It could have only been a few seconds, but to Don, it felt like ages. There was nothing coming from either of them, the speaker roaring only with other agents, with the cries of the hostages, with –

" _All clear!"_ he then heard Megan shout, and felt the moisture in his eyes again when the realization hit. It was over. No shot had rung out, nobody had pulled the trigger, nobody had gotten hurt, they had all come out of it alright. Charlie was safe now.

Or was he?

Don shuddered. How could his brother ever be safe from himself?

* * *

Charlie drew in a shaky breath as he handed the gun over to Megan. It almost slipped out of his unfeeling fingers, fingers that were trembling and sweaty.

"All clear!" Megan then shouted aloud and he flinched a little.

"It's alright, Charlie," Cynthia said with a sardonic smile on her lips while an agent he didn't know cuffed her hands behind her back. "You're free now, that's all that matters. You don't have to put up with everything that makes you miserable anymore. You can pull the plug anytime."

Charlie was clenching his teeth so hard that they were gnawing. Seeing her malice, the sheer purity of her evilness, made him feel angry, but at the same time so sad and desperate that it hurt. How could a human being ever become so evil? How could they willfully hurt other living beings?

And how could he have ever been so stupid to fall for someone like that?

"You know what?" he said to her, his voice still trembling with all the emotions she had evoked within him. "I pity you in a way. I used to think I was inferior to you somehow, but I can see now that none of it is real. You can't even properly grieve for your dad, you're pulling off this show of superiority just because you're too insecure to accept the fact that you made a mistake. But you were right earlier. Just because you're miserable doesn't give you the right to pull down everyone around you with you."

Before she'd lost the befuddled expression on her face and had time to think of a retort, she was led away. Charlie watched her leave, his breathing shallow, unable to relax until he could be sure that she was out of his life for good.

"Are you okay?" Megan asked, her eyes bespeaking a worry that was bordering on mistrust.

His head had jerked around towards her, but he had to cast down his eyes. Her look made him feel guilty and ashamed. "More or less," he mumbled and had to swallow hard to get rid of the husky quality of his voice while his mind was still reeling with all the thoughts and memories and emotions that had been at play during the past couple of minutes.

He could still feel her eyes on him, those eyes that were still telling him what she was really getting at, so he cleared his throat and added, "I don't intend to harm myself, if that's what you mean."

The mistrust in her voice seemed to lessen a bit. "Let's take you back to the others then. David, you stay here to help take care of the hostages, okay?"

After one glance at Charlie that held the same mixture of worry and mistrust as Megan's earlier look, David nodded and disappeared into the adjourning room.

As they made their way towards the entrance of the bank, Megan put a warm hand on his back that Charlie didn't quite know what to think of. It felt comforting, true, but there was still something not right about this. It felt as though she was watching him, almost as though he had been one of the robbers as well, someone who couldn't be trusted.

And was she wrong?

"What about her partner?" it occurred to him then. He realized that interrupting the tense silence felt good, yet he couldn't help but notice that his voice still wasn't as steady as he would have liked it to be. "Did you get him, too?"

She gave him a slight nod and a scrutinizing stare back. "SWAT apprehended him." The stare remained when she went on, "You've known all along what she was going for, haven't you?"

He couldn't look at her when he replied. "I was afraid she'd try that, yeah."

"So you decided to beat her at her own game."

He bit his lip. He felt like defending himself, like saying that he hadn't said anything that wasn't the truth, but something held him back. Even when he hadn't told an outright lie, he was aware that he still hadn't been honest, that he'd deceived them all, that deception had been his goal all along. True, there was no reproach detectable in Megan's voice, but still, her words brought the dilemma he'd been facing back to him as though he had to decide what to do once again. He had already made the decision though, he'd gone into the bank, that dilemma was dealt with now, and the outcome had proven to him that he'd made the right decision. Everyone had come out of it alright, the hostages were safe and the hostage takers would soon be behind bars where they couldn't harm anybody else. It had been the right thing to do.

So why did it feel so wrong?

They crossed the street to re-enter the building that housed their command center. Charlie was keeping his head down in a futile attempt to ignore the reporters and onlookers that were trying to get a glimpse of any action that was happening in connection with the hostage situation. He breathed a small sigh of relief when they entered the building, which gave them an opportunity to hide from their curious glances.

His relief was short-lived, however, for it lasted only until he stood in the doorway to that small room where everything had begun in what seemed like a lifetime ago and was faced with the expressions on their faces. The familiar mixture of worry and mistrust was there again, but when he set eyes on Larry and Amita and saw the shock in their eyes, he felt as though he couldn't breathe anymore. His gaze lingered on Amita's eyes, on the drying tears in their corners, and he felt so guilty and ashamed that he would have liked to just storm out of there. He swallowed and tore his gaze away and was just about to utter the apology he knew they deserved when his eyes landed upon his brother and his bloody nose.

"What happened to you?"

Don was staring back at him. The muscles around his jaw were working, but his mouth remained closed, no words were coming out. Charlie felt his heart sink at the sight, he felt like he was losing the ground beneath his feet. He'd never seen his brother, his big, strong, self-reliant brother, so shell-shocked.

"He and Colby had a little altercation," Megan explained quietly and Charlie, never averting his eyes from his brother, nodded as though that answered his question, while in truth, he'd hardly heard her; his whole energy was being used for keeping his emotions in check.

"I'm so sorry," it finally broke out of him, a gentle eruption, the words nothing more but a broken whisper. He was still searching Don's eyes, but his brother was looking down, and Charlie couldn't blame him. In fact, that was still better than the accusing stares he felt from the others, so he kept his eyes on him, well aware that he was being a coward, yet equally well aware he had to stick this out. He knew he'd hurt them, and what was worse, he'd known it before he had gone in. He needed them to understand though, he was craving for their forgiveness so much that it hurt.

"You asked us to trust you," Don suddenly said. He was looking up now, but the strained sound of his voice made it obvious how hard this was for him. "We trusted you, damn it. And you… I mean what you... I mean, how are we supposed to ever trust you again?"

Charlie could feel the tears pressing against the back of his eyes. That was exactly the point, he'd had to keep the attempt from them so they could still trust him, and he'd needed them to trust him to show them he was still worthy of their trust, but that was exactly how he'd broken it.

He shook his head slightly. All this was getting confusing even for him, and he'd been the one who'd experienced every stage of this roller-coaster journey personally.

"Will you let me explain?"

He could see them exchange glances until all eyes were resting upon him again, and he took that as a form of silent assent. So technically, he could start talking now, he could start saying what he'd been wanting to tell them, what he knew they had to learn to understand why he'd done what he'd done. The bad thing was that his throat was constricted so tightly that he hardly got any air in, let alone words out. He cleared it, but still his voice was low and raspy. "I know you think that I should have told you about… about what I did back then, but… I just couldn't see any sense in that."

As soon as the words were out, he knew that he shouldn't have phrased it that way.

"Any sense?" Don asked with an incredulous high pitch in his voice. "Damn it, Charlie, did it never occur to you that we could have helped you, that we could have prevented that?"

He took a deep breath, noticing how badly he was shaking, before he went on. "I didn't need any help." He heard Don's incredulous huff and hastened to go on before he would lose his courage. "No, just let me explain. I mean yeah, I would have… I probably would have needed some sort of support after Mom's death, and that's what Cynthia realized, and that's how she was able to manipulate me. But after the attempt, I… It wasn't like that anymore. I'd realized that she had been manipulating me, I'd seen through her scheme then, and once I had, I was able to free myself from her."

The words were standing there in the room like some grotesque sculpture, an opaque construct that felt completely out of place, and Charlie felt his heart sink further when he realized how poor a job he was doing at explaining to them what things had been like at the time. He needed to do better than this.

"That's rare," Megan quietly put in. "Usually people can't get out of a situation like this on their own."

In her eyes, Charlie could see the last remnants of mistrust, of doubt that he should actually have abandoned those sinister thoughts, doubt that he should have been able to pull himself out of that big black hole he'd sunken into on his own, but her doubt also gave him a starting point for explaining this to them better.

"Look, I've had my wake-up call. When I..." He hesitated. This was difficult. This was something he'd never talked about to anybody, and now there was a room full of people hanging on his lips. However, he knew that after what he'd put them through, they deserved to know.

He cleared his throat and started his narration. "She'd been preparing for that for some time, with small incidents, not really meaningful per se, but demoralizing in their recurrence. She would always make me need her and then show me how worthless I was. One night, she eventually had me at the point that I just wanted to escape from it all, so I… I swallowed those sleeping pills, all at once."

He had to collect himself, because taking those pills was the one moment in his life he would have liked to just scratch out. "I don't remember much after that, nothing clearly anyway. I just know I threw them up again and then she stayed with me for the rest of the night until she had to go to work in the morning. But when she was gone and I woke up fully and realized what I had done, I… I was just so shocked because I'd never… I'd never intended to do that. I mean, I'd been miserable, yeah, but I just never…"

His voice had become too raspy for him to go on and he cleared his throat again, taking the opportunity to take some deep breaths and brace himself to bring this to an end. "Anyway, I left her place, leaving behind just a note that she should leave me alone, and took some time off. And then, when I came back to L.A., she was gone. She had quit her job at CalSci, so I didn't run into her again, and then with time everything slowly became better, also because Larry returned from Europe then and Amita started her doctorate… Anyway, it wasn't like it had been before, so I decided to just forget about what I had done and pretend as though it had never happened."

Don stood at that and paced the room and Charlie could feel his irritation. He knew what his brother was getting at even before he said the words. "But what if she had managed today?"

Charlie shook his head. "That's what I'm trying to explain, Don. I'm not suicidal, or depressive or anything. I'm… Ever since I woke up at her place after… after having done that, I… I just couldn't understand how it could have ever come that far. I mean, I understood it rationally, I could have named you all the factors that contributed to… to the attempt – you know, the grief, the self-loathing, the isolation, but I… it just didn't make any sense to me anymore. I knew that people committed suicide for reasons like those, but I just couldn't understand why that should have been enough to end my life."

He could see that his brother's features were still hard, still full of mistrust. He bit his lip, desperately searching for the right words. "You need to understand that Cynthia met me at a time when I was… really not well. I was insecure and lost, and she knew how to take advantage of that. But I'm not that person anymore. What's more, I've learned from my mistakes. I know that I have plenty to live for, and I know she likes twisting things until it may seem that I don't, so I _knew_ I wouldn't let her trick me once again."

"So you've known all along she would try to talk you into that," Colby said in an attempt to analyze the situation they had just come out of. Charlie saw him exchange a glance with Megan and only now it occurred to him that his friends must have overheard the conversation he'd had with her upon exiting the bank, that they just hadn't grasped the full meaning of their words before now. "You were just playing along, you were never going to shoot yourself, you were just stalling for time and trying to get the gun in an attempt to deescalate the situation. And all the while you let her and us believe she was succeeding."

Charlie was staring at the floor, his face burning. His eyes, too, for this time, there was reproach detectable in those words. "I'm truly sorry for that." His voice was husky and hardly more than a whisper. "That's why I asked you to trust me, I hoped you would realize that I wouldn't do that." He had to clear his throat to be able to go on, but his voice was still strained, as though his body was trying to keep the words from coming out. And in a way, that was what Charlie wanted, for this wasn't a conversation he was comfortable having. To tell the truth, he would have liked to be anywhere but here at this moment – literally anywhere.

There was no way to help it, though, he just had to see this through, so he gathered the last remnants of saliva in his dried out mouth. "I know I should have been honest with you, I just couldn't see a way to explain all this to you before I had to go in. You wouldn't have trusted me to be able to withstand her manipulation, but I knew that I could, so I just… I was just hoping she wouldn't bring this up, that she wouldn't hurt you like that. I guess that was a little too optimistic."

He continued staring at the floor, continued hiding his burning face and avoiding their eyes. He knew he hadn't been fair to them. On the other hand, what would have been the alternative? He couldn't just have laid out everything before them, including the suicide attempt, they wouldn't have understood that he had put that behind himself now, they couldn't have processed everything within the time frame she'd given them. Besides, it would have hurt them too if he'd told them up front, and there had been a chance, albeit a slim one, that Cynthia wouldn't talk about that, that they would have never known…

It was useless. No matter what reasons he'd had to make his decision, no matter how bad the alternatives still seemed to him, Charlie couldn't deny the fact that he'd deceived his friends by not telling them about the suicide attempt, he'd manipulated them into letting him go through with this, just like Cynthia had tried to manipulate him for her purposes. He'd have to work hard if he hoped to ever make that up to them again and win their trust back.

"Can I talk to you, alone?" Don's low voice disturbed the deep silence that had ensued his last words.

Charlie looked up at him, but Don's face didn't reveal what he was thinking. He nodded slightly and let his brother guide him out of the room. As much as he cared for them all, he couldn't help but feel relief wash over him as he left the small room, as he left the expressions on their faces, their accusing stares, the hurt in their eyes. Time could heal that, though, he was sure of it, he had first-hand experience with time's healing wonders. That look in their eyes wouldn't remain there forever, it go away once they would have understood that all this was a thing of the past and once they had all together learned to deal with the situation a little better, and then they'd all be able to put this behind themselves.

As welcome as the relief of getting away from them was to him, he knew that it would only be short-lived. He felt the apprehension inside him growing like a deadly sickness as Don was leading him along some hallways until they'd found a place to talk privately. As his brother sat down, he followed suit, and he remained seated even when after only a couple of seconds, Don jumped up from his chair again and started nervously pacing the small office.

"Look, I still can't get my head around the fact..." Don started, then broke off, paced some rounds, then started anew. "I mean, what do you expect me to do now?"

Charlie watched him pace, watched him run his hands over his face and through his hair and felt even more sorry than he had before. He knew this had to be hard for his brother. Don had always been someone trying to maintain control over everything, and whatever Charlie had done or not done to himself was something that was beyond Don's power. He just didn't see that.

"There's nothing you can do, Don. It happened, there's nothing you or I can do to make it unhappen."

Don's hand hit the closed door and Charlie flinched a little. "I know that. It's just… I mean, how can we go on now? How can we tell Dad? And how can we make sure that something like that won't happen again?"

"It won't."

Don turned away with an exasperated huff, so he fought hard to make his point clear. "I have never again thought about hurting myself, Don, never since then and never before. That's also why we can't tell Dad. It would unnecessarily hurt him, there's no upside in telling him, because this subject is dealt with now. It was… it was an accumulation of unfortunate, but unlikely circum–"

"But what if that happens again?"

Charlie shook his head. "I told you, I've learned my lesson. I know the warning signs and I have a clearer image of myself and my life now. I have a personality now and I won't just lose that and become clay in someone's hands again."

It hurt him to say those words, for it reminded him of the time when his personality _hadn't_ been as steady as it was today, when he _had_ let himself become clay in someone's hands. He swallowed those feelings down though and they settled in his stomach, a leaden weight that was making him sick, but that left his head clear and his speech unhindered.

"You need to understand what she did to me, Don. She made me completely dependent upon her, she insinuated herself into every aspect of my life until she had become the only point of reference in it."

Now, it was Don's turn to shake his head, and Charlie felt his heart contract as he watched the despair enter his big brother's face. "But why didn't I see that? How could I not have –"

"Stop it, Don, please," he interrupted him and stood. His mouth was dry, but he needed to keep going, because Don couldn't do that to himself. "Don't go there."

"But if I had –"

"This wasn't your fault." The heartache and the nausea increased so much that he was yearning to dug himself a deep hole and hide from the truth. He couldn't though, these were the consequences he had to bear for what he'd done. "It was mine. I was too blind to see through her scheme, and then I was too weak to free myself from her."

The words were still stinging, but strangely Charlie felt the nausea decrease a little, the leaden weight was shrinking. He felt lighter now, his fear that his self-loathing would increase even further once he'd admit his guilt to others had been ill-founded, saying the accusation out loud hadn't made matters worse, on the contrary.

"But you weren't well at that time, I knew that, and still –"

"None of us was well at that time," Charlie stated, making an effort to express himself clearly. Don had to see that he so couldn't go down this road. "You were hurting, too, Don, and so was Dad. The two of you were busy enough trying to deal with everything. You too could have done with some help, it wasn't your responsibility to look out for me on top of everything else, especially not after how I had conducted myself in the end."

In an instant, Don closed the gap between them, grabbing his brother's upper arms firmly. "Charlie… you can't blame yourself for that." His voice was low and husky with an almost feverish energy in it that turned Charlie's stomach, and he shuddered when he saw the haunted look in his brother's eyes. This wasn't the Don he knew, this wasn't right. "I get it now, I know you were hurting, and Mom understood that, too. It wasn't your fault, and –"

"It was," Charlie contradicted as calmly as he could, fighting hard not to let that look get to him too much. "That was one thing I learned to do after… after that, to better understand what I was responsible for. I know Mom's sickness wasn't my fault, but I also know that I shouldn't have shut myself off in the garage during those past few weeks. I shouldn't deny that, or else the guilt will just come back and blindside me."

He paused, but he realized that he was saying the truth. He'd actually learned his lesson, he didn't feel guilty for his mother's sickness anymore, he was dealing more rationally with his emotions now, in a healthier manner. Another one of time's healing wonders.

"I know that it wasn't right what I had done," he went on, suddenly finding it liberating to talk, "but I also know that there are reasons that make my behavior understandable and, to some degree, excusable. It's just something I have to live with, and I learned to do that by now. It hurts, but that's life. You make mistakes and you have to deal with them, and that's what I have been doing ever since."

Don nodded again and turned away, taking some deep breaths. Charlie watched his back nervously, taking in his rigid posture and still feeling utterly uncomfortable with his role in this conversation. He was becoming increasingly anxious by his brother's struggles to cope with the situation. Don wasn't like that. Don always knew what to do. Frankly, Charlie was both pained and scared to see his big brother so lost.

"Don..." he started, but was at a loss what else there was to say. How could he make it clear to his brother that this wasn't going to happen again? "Look, she took advantage of the fact that I was really isolated at that time. But I'm not anymore. Larry's back, I've got Amita, things between you and me are finally good… I have a good life now, and I know it."

For some moments, he just stood there, waiting tensely for a reaction from his brother.

"Okay," Don eventually said, still emanating nothing but nervousness and tension and fear, and Charlie felt the unprecedented urge to take him in his arms and tell him that everything was going to be alright. "Okay, so… I hear what you're saying. It's just that… after what I've learned today… I mean, the mere fact that you were ready to… I would have never imagined that. And now I'm…" It took him a moment to collect himself, and Charlie pressed his lips together tightly when Don continued with that husky tone he'd never heard with him before. "I'm just scared that it might happen again, no matter what you keep telling me, and I…" He took a deep breath and when he started anew, his voice sounded a little stronger. "I think it might take some time for me to… you know, to really believe that. To come to terms with that and trust you again."

Charlie nodded, biting his lip. That hurt, true, but it was something to be expected under the circumstances. "I understand that", he forced himself to say. "But you don't have to worry about me. This won't happen ever again."

Don nodded and Charlie felt his heart break as he watched him blink rapidly and his eyes become moist. He couldn't stand seeing his big brother like that, and that was part of the reason why he finally took initiative, taking him in his arms.

Feeling the strength with which Don was clinging back to him made his throat constrict. This was wrong. This wasn't supposed to happen, Don hated showing any form of weakness, he hated showing emotion, and it was his doing, he'd been the one to make such a mess of his strong big brother.

"I'm so sorry, Don," he whispered.

He listened to Don's breathing, to the effort it took him to keep his sobs inaudible, and to the husky whisper close to his ear, "Why didn't you come to me? You could have come to me. I would have..."

He broke off and Charlie bit his lip to prevent the emotions from overcoming him.

"I know," he whispered back, but couldn't hide the broken quality of his voice. "I know that now. I'm sorry."

He tightened his hold, trying to make it all good for his brother again, to make him realize that it was over, that he could trust him, that he didn't have to be afraid anymore. He'd meant what he'd said earlier, that he was in a different situation now than he had been in then, in a different life. All he had to do now was prove that to his loved ones, to his friends and to Don. He just had to show him with time that it was all good now, that their period of alienation was over, that they could just put this behind themselves and go back to appreciating what they had. This was something that time could heal, for time was what he needed to get their trust back, time and care and honesty.

\- finis -

 **A/N:** Yup, that was a pretty long ending. I felt the need to put some things straight, though. Hope you still liked it.


	14. Nightmare

**D** **isclaimer:** It would give me nightmares if I didn't come out and tell you the truth: Numb3rs and its characters don't belong to me.  
 **R** **ating:** T  
 **T** **imeline:** Take your pick. Just pick something where Megan's on the team.  
 **A** **/** **N:** First of all: thanks a lot for your support so far! You make me so happy! Secondly: please don't be disappointed with this one, it's more a one-shot than a real story, but my original N is turning out rather long, so I'll start posting that as a story of its own shortly.  
About the titles: thank you very much for your wonderful suggestions! I'm fully equipped with titles for almost the entire alphabet, but if you have some further inspirations for Y and Z, PMs are very much welcome :)

* * *

 **Nightmare**

Don could hear the blood rushing in his ears. His head felt hot, an uncomfortable heat, one that was messing with his brain and that made the salt in his sweat burn on his skin. He could hear his breathing, too. It was much louder than he was used to, and it didn't sound good, it sounded panting, almost wheezing, as though he'd just been running up several flights of stairs.

And yet, he wasn't moving at all, he was still. So still in fact that he could see his hands shaking. The sight made the heat in his head increase, made his panic increase, his fear. He couldn't do this. He had to get out of here, had to remove himself from this situation.

Too bad he hardly had a choice.

"Jonathan Wakefield," he heard Megan's voice and readjusted the grip of his weapon. "Put the gun down and let him go. You're surrounded. You know we won't let you leave, but if you let him go now, we can try and find a solution that everyone can accept."

There was a high-pitched sound of laughter coming from the armed hostage-taker. "Do you really think I'll believe that? So what kind of deal are we talking about, you'll let me choose between life in prison and the death row or what?"

He retreated further, dragging the hostage with him, the gun against the other man's temple. Don followed his movements with his eyes, fighting hard not to lose his focus, fighting hard to see just the perpetrator and his hostage. Not the persons underneath.

Not the fear in his little brother's eyes.

Noises behind him, a door opening, people scurrying through, drawing nearer. The hostage-taker flinched, his weapon jerked away from Charlie's temple, then the shot.

"Stay away!"

Other shots, none hitting though. Don had ducked behind a desk, was peering from under it to determine Wakefield's new position. Charlie's new position.

Another shot from Wakefield. Seven bullets left in the magazine. But he was trying to retreat further, and if he managed to escape, there would no longer be the need for a hostage, and Charlie's life wouldn't be worth a dime.

Don left his cover and took another shot in the rough direction, though nowhere near the two retreating men, not daring to risk hitting his brother. Yet, he had to keep Wakefield from escaping. He was already dangerously close to the stairwell. True, he still had to get downstairs and through the lobby, and at bottom the idea that he might get out of here was insane, there was no way out of a building full of FBI agents. But sadly, Don also realized that this fact didn't increase Charlie's chances of survival one bit. So they had to stop Wakefield, and they had to do it here, while Don still had control over what was happening.

"Jonathan," Megan tried again, "you know there's no way out of here. Let him go and we can talk this out."

He was only a couple of yards from the doors leading to the stairwell and Don closed up to him, willfully abandoning his cover yet again. He couldn't let them leave.

He fired a shot to their right, towards the doors Wakefield was retreating to, trying to cut off their way. Wakefield flinched and ducked, but retreated further. Don fired another shot and Wakefiled shot back then, but Don wouldn't let him go, fired again.

And that was the end.

In his ears, it all seemed like one horrible sound: the shot from his weapon, the clinking of metal, the cry of pain. Don had never heard a sound like that, it was a sound that he felt to the bone, it was freezing his marrow, sawing at the vertebrae of his spine and making them squeal.

He'd hit his brother.

He stared at the scene, unwilling, unable to accept the image his eyes were presenting to him, while his mind was working hard to understand what had just happened, for all this didn't make any sense. His shot had been aimed more than a yard away from them, and yet there had been no other bullet fired, so there was only one explanation left for what Don was seeing, and that explanation made the ice in his marrow spread in the rest of his body, freezing his blood, making him shiver: a ricochet. His bullet had ricocheted and hit his brother. But as simple as the solution was, he still couldn't believe that his mind had put the pieces together correctly, for this couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening, he had to change this, he had to find the rewind button, he had to take the bullet out of there. There had to be a way to change this back, this couldn't be final.

Other shots were ringing in his ears, Wakefield, David, Colby, other agents… Wakefield had lost his shield the moment Charlie had been hit, the moment he had doubled over with pain, and that was what brought his downfall about. Two bullets hit him almost simultaneously and the weapon fell out of his hand, clattering on the floor.

The shots were still ringing in Don's ear when he noticed how badly his hands was shaking. He took the weapon down, tried to better see the two men that had sunken on the floor, but he couldn't, he tried to get to them, but he couldn't, he couldn't move his legs.

Air filled his lungs and only now did he realize that he'd been holding his breath, as though he had been trying to stop the march of time, as though his mere act of turning into a pillar of salt would have kept this volatile balance alive.

It hadn't, though.

The world around him kept turning, Colby and David were running towards the two injured men, kneeling there, looking for signs of life.

A warm hand in his back. "Come," Megan said flatly and pushed his reluctant legs nearer to the scene. A crime scene, in effect, and there was nothing lacking. There was the weapon, there was the blood, there was the corpse.

Don ignored him, forcing himself to look into Charlie's face instead. His eyes were neither open nor closed, so Don couldn't be sure whether he was aware of his surroundings. Nor whether he would be aware of his surroundings ever again.

There was hard floor beneath his knees and he watched a trembling hand make contact with the white cheek seamed by the lines of pain on what just a couple of minutes ago had been his brother's face, a face that had now turned into a mask of agony.

His brother's cheek was cool, giving his frozen blood and marrow a painful, icy stab, and Don searched for another spot to put his hand on. It landed on his brother's shoulder, making contact with the upper end of the bloodstain spreading out from his chest. He felt the warm liquid on his palm and couldn't stop his gaze from wandering down, from taking in the destruction his own stray bullet had caused. His brother's shirt was soaked wet with red liquid right above his left chest, the ugly stain still spreading out even though it was already larger than Don's hand. For a second, Don regarded his own red palm that had been smeared with his brother's blood. It felt sticky and he was desperate to wipe it clean, it was threatening to turn his stomach, but he managed to swallow the sensation down and focus on his brother's eyes, holding onto the sight as though it was his lifeline.

"It's okay, Charlie," someone said, and when Don felt the scraping sensation in his throat, he knew that it had been himself. "Don't worry, it's gonna be alright, you're gonna be fine."

His brother's pupils were visible now, and what was more, they were looking back at him, and Don felt his heart be torn apart when he saw his brother try for a smile and fail. Charlie's optimism and bravery might have been unwavering, as was the blind trust he put in every damn thing that Don said, but there wasn't enough strength left in his body to make those feelings show on the outside, at least not in a convincing manner.

A moment later, the attempt of a smile made way to a pained contortion that made Don feel like it was his own heart that was bleeding. A shudder ran through his brother's body, and Don's fingers dug deeper into Charlie's shoulder.

"Cold," was the sound he breathed.

"I know, buddy," Don said and blindly reached for his brother's hand, pressing it firmly, pressing his lips together tightly when he noticed how cool and clammy Charlie's fingers felt under his touch. And while his mind was coming to the conclusion that this was really the end, that Charlie was dying, he just couldn't grasp the reality of it all, not in its finality. He was hurting because his brother was hurting, he was scared because his brother was scared, yet he couldn't fathom the idea that –

Another shudder and Don leaned in closer to him, put his arms around the shaking shoulders, tried to keep him warm for as long as he could.

"It's okay," he soothed as he gently, carefully brought his brother's torso up and held him against his chest, guiding Charlie's head to rest against his shoulder, supporting it with a hand he had buried in his brother's curls. He was pressing him against himself while he hid his own face between Charlie's neck and collarbone, putting his nose against the still warm skin, against the aorta that was pulsating its irregular rhythm weaker and weaker with every beat of his brother's heart. He could feel Charlie's curls against his cheek and it felt weird that they were still so soft while everything else in his body was becoming cold and clammy.

"I'm scared," said the whisper against his ear and Don tightened his hold, felt his brother's lungs working under his hands, felt the skin getting colder with every second passing, with every drop of blood seeping out of his body.

"It's okay," Don said, vaguely aware that he was repeating himself. "Nothing's gonna happen to you, I'll make sure of that." The more optimism he put in his words, the more optimism did he feel leave his soul until there was nothing left but despair, despair and fear that made his voice less steady and more tremulous. "Just hold on, okay? Just hold on to me, and you're gonna be fine."

"Promise?"

The word had been feeble, more a breeze than a sound. Then another shudder, and Don dug his nose deeper into the hollow near his brother's throat.

"I promise, buddy."

"Good."

Charlie's voice was strained by the tension between the pain he was experiencing and a kind of relief and peace that made the tears spring to Don's eyes. The word had been hardly audible, almost drowned by the gurgling sound that was caused by the blood coming out of Charlie's mouth, by the blood Don could feel in splatters on his cheek. He felt another shudder run through his brother's body, his limbs convulsing against the pain and destruction it was exposed to, and he was tightening his grip on him, digging his fingers further into those convulsing limbs, reluctant to let go. All his clinging was of no use however, and he knew it. He could clutch the flesh all he wanted, but that would never help to hold on to what he wanted to keep. He knew that it was a lost fight, that he couldn't stop the life seeping out of his brother, that there was no way to stop the end from crushing their world. On the other hand, he knew he couldn't stop fighting before it was over. As long as his brother was still part of this world, he couldn't accept the notion that there might be a world without him soon.

And so, he held on to him until the end, and only when he felt the tension leave his brother, only when the convulsions stopped, only when the body in his arms went limp, only then did he let the tears run freely.

"No," he whispered against the aorta that had now stopped its pulsating, and he felt his tears seep into his brother's curls, making them damp. "Please no..."

The words faded away in the silence, bearing no effect. It was as though he was trying to bargain with some higher power, to beg them to turn back time and give him his brother back. He couldn't go through with his plan though. There were no more words coming out of his mouth, no more arguing, no more pleading, just the gut-wrenching sobs from the depths of his heart.

* * *

His heart was beating so rapidly that it was making him sick. His breathing was fast too, coming in gasps, but he nonetheless grasped a little more of reality with every breath he took. The scenery had changed, the FBI was gone, there was just his darkened bedroom now. A nightmare then. It had only been –

 _No._

For a moment, he thought his heart had stopped. It _hadn't_ just been a nightmare, it had been real, at least…

His eyes darted across the darkened room, landing on the shirt he had thrown over the end of his bed. Even in the darkness, the stain was visible, the dark red standing out against the glaring white. That was real, that wasn't a nightmare, there was blood on his shirt, Charlie's blood.

The sickness returned with a vengeance and he stumbled out of his bed towards the bathroom. Before he'd reached it though, the urge had lessened, so now he was just standing there, leaning against the door frame, breathing hard with an occasional dry heave.

He closed his eyes, his strength suddenly leaving him, and sank on the floor, right there in the middle of the hallway, and let the tears come.

It had just all felt so real, far too real. He'd actually thought to feel Charlie's body against his, he'd thought he'd felt the life leave his body, he'd thought he'd felt the tearing pain in his heart. He hadn't, though. All that had been real was the fear, the fear and all those details that gave the story the potential for the horror scenario Don's mind had turned it into.

And yet, it wasn't real, not all of it anyway. Yes, there had been a hostage situation, yes, Charlie had been hit by a bullet gone awry, but that was where the two stories diverged. There hadn't been a corpse, not one and certainly not two. The hostage taker had been incapacitated by two bullets in his shoulder and his hand and also the ricochet hadn't hit Charlie in his chest, but merely in his arm, doing minimal damage compared to what could have happened.

Or had it?

Don's breathing stopped again, the beating of his heart quickening painfully. How could he be so sure? Maybe that other scenario, the less horrible one, maybe _that_ one had been a dream, maybe the truth was that Charlie had actually been hit in the chest, for that would explain why it had felt so real, why –

Before he knew what was happening, Don was standing before the closed door to Charlie's bed room, his legs shaking. His hand was stretching out towards the door handle, but it was trembling too, for he didn't want to imagine what he might see, that he might not find a peacefully sleeping Charlie in there, because in truth, he'd never made it home tonight, because –

A sound from within. It had to be relief flooding over him, but what he was aware of was weakness, weakness and dizziness. It was true then, Charlie was home, he wasn't dead, he hadn't died, it had just been a nightmare after all.

Another sound from within, and Don frowned. It almost sounded like someone was crying.

Moved by renewed worry, he opened the door swiftly yet softly, stepping in.

"Charlie?"

The figure on the bed froze. Don hesitated for a moment, then got in fully and closed the door behind himself. A second later, he was standing at his brother's bedside, looking at the back of his head and breathing a sigh of relief despite everything, just because he was able to see that curly head there were it belonged. Yet, his brother's posture bespoke a tension that told Don beyond a doubt that he wasn't sleeping. What it didn't tell him, however, was what he should do now. His hands were itching to hold him, to make sure he was okay, but he didn't dare to, so he just stood there, nervously studying the stiff silhouette.

"Are you okay?"

No reaction. His words were standing there in the dark silence like an intruder, inappropriate and unwelcome. Don hesitated. He had a feeling that Charlie was ignoring him because he didn't want him here, and in a way, he had to accept that, but on the other hand, he was sure that Charlie wasn't okay, so he just had to try and help him, whether Charlie wanted him to or not.

He rounded the bed until he could see his brother's face, at least the part that wasn't hidden by the comforter or his curls. Even with the limited number of clues he had, however, he could tell that Charlie was pressing his eyes closed tightly, so he definitely wasn't sleeping. The glimmer in the corners of his eyes was another piece of evidence that Don's sense of hearing hadn't misled him. His breathing was flat too, obviously he was trying to hide the fact that he'd been crying.

"Are you in pain?" Don asked softly and sat down at his side. "Should I get you something?"

No reaction. Then, when Charlie seemed to realize he could no longer pretend to be asleep, he shook his head no, though kept his eyes closed tightly and his lips pressed together.

Don felt his chest being torn apart. He couldn't bear seeing Charlie like this.

"Come on, buddy, talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."

He bit his lip. He knew exactly what was wrong. Charlie had almost died today. And yet, figuring out what was wrong wasn't what Don was trying to achieve with this conversation. No, what he really wanted to do, what he _needed_ to do, was fixing the things that were wrong. Fixing the things he had broken.

"Talk to me. Please."

Charlie wiped the last remnants of tears from his eyes and finally opened them, though kept averting his brother's gaze. "You should go back to bed," he said, and Don froze. Before he could further think about the implications of his brother's words though, Charlie continued, "It's nothing, I'm being silly." His voice was very quiet, but still the tremble in it couldn't be disguised.

"You're not," Don said automatically, having summoned new hope when Charlie hadn't insisted on him leaving. Then, however, he was confronted with the hurt and sternness in his brother's eyes, and hastily corrected himself, "I'm sure there's nothing silly about this. Just tell me what's wrong."

"It was only a nightmare," Charlie said while he was sitting himself upright, moving to a spot next to Don on the edge of the bed. Don was about to feel relieved, to feel glad that Charlie tolerated being so close to him, but before the feeling could really take his tension away, his eyes were captured by a sight that threw him right back into his nightmare, making all positive emotions vanish: Charlie's wound. The bandage around his arm where the bullet had hit him was visible under his t-shirt, and Don had to bite his lip to keep his emotions at an arm's length.

Charlie still seemed a little upset and he was directing his words at his hands, but his voice had become a little steadier when he said, "You should just go back to bed. I didn't mean to wake you up, I'm sorry."

Don shook his head. "Don't be."

He hesitated, again. He knew he should ask, he knew he had to ask if he wanted to help Charlie, but he was scared. What if Charlie didn't want to talk about this – to him? Or if he started making the accusations Don knew he deserved? On the other hand, he wasn't even sure that Charlie knew that the bullet that had hit him had come from Don's gun. In a way, Don doubted that he knew, or else he wouldn't have been so quiet about the matter.

In the end, he asked the question nonetheless. "Was it about today?"

Hardly surprisingly, Charlie nodded, though he remained silent.

"Look, Charlie..." He didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to make this better, for either of them. He only knew he had to try. "What happened today was bad. I know that." The words were hardly out when an angry voice in his head asked how on earth that was going to make things better, so he swallowed and went on, "It takes some time to process it all." _So what_ , the angry voice in his mind snapped, _everything will be alright if you just give it a little time? You'_ _ve_ _almost got_ _ten_ _your brother killed, damn it!_

"It's not that," Charlie said and for the first time, Don's thoughts were taken off his self-accusations. "It's… In my nightmare, things… happened a little differently."

Don frowned, feeling uncomfortably reminded of his own nightmare. "How so?"

"It's silly, really. It didn't happen. There's no reason to be upset about it, I know that."

Under normal conditions, Don might have agreed. Right now, however, he was acutely aware of what a nightmare could do to a person's emotional stability, whether or not it was based on reality.

"What was it about?"

Charlie stared at his hands, swallowing hard. "It was the way it had been today, in the office. Wakefield had me, and he was trying to retreat, using me as a shield, but you followed us. Then the shooting started, and you stood up to stop him, leaving your cover, but he shot back and..." He bit his lip and fell silent, trying, yet failing to keep the tears from spilling and impatiently wiping them away.

Don didn't say a word, he just put his arms around his brother, careful with his wound, and held him close, one hand guiding Charlie's head against his shoulder. For a moment, it felt the way it had earlier, in his nightmare, and he struggled to make those images disappear, to concentrate on the fact that Charlie was breathing and his heart was beating, that he'd come out of it alright.

"It's okay," Don soothed. It was only when the words came to his ear that he was yet again reminded of his nightmare and the angry voice in his head was there again, more desperate. Why did he keep repeating that everything was okay when he knew that it wasn't? Why did he keep lying to his brother? Why did he keep pretending that he could keep him safe?

"You were dead," Charlie whispered as if to contradict his words and Don could feel his brother's tears on his own face, so close were they in this moment. "I saw you die right in front of me."

Don tightened his hold, but stayed silent. He might have pointed out that Charlie's nightmare hadn't been real, that he hadn't really died, but he couldn't. He knew that, right now, it didn't matter what had and what hadn't happened. The mere possibility and the emotion it had brought about were real nonetheless. Besides, he couldn't have pointed it out even if he'd wanted to, not if he wanted to hide his own emotional instability from his brother.

"I'm sorry," Charlie eventually said and freed himself. Don let got of him, albeit reluctantly. "I'm being silly. It didn't really happen. I don't know why… I didn't mean to lose it like this, I'm sorry. Must be the pain meds."

He wiped the last remnants of tears from his face. Despite the darkness, Don could see the blush on his cheeks as Charlie tried for an apologetic smile, though not coming very close. Don stayed silent.

"Just… just promise me one thing, okay?"

Don looked up at him then, looking deeply into his brother's serious eyes that were shining brightly in the darkness.

"Don't do that for real."

Don felt as though a weight had been put in his stomach, but he continued looking in those eyes, saw the chagrin in them, and only wished he could take it away. "What do you mean?"

"Don't… I know it's silly, because it's your job and you know how to take safety measures, it's just… I mean, it would really calm me down if you…" He took a deep breath and collected himself, then started anew, his voice stronger. "If I'm ever in danger, don't risk your own life to protect me. Promise?"

Don stared at him, stared into those eyes and his mind brought the other image back to him, those broken eyes under the heavy lids that would soon close forever. He felt himself shaking his head. "Not a chance." His voice was low, hardly betraying any of the feelings tormenting his soul.

"What?"

Don looked at his hands, fighting hard to stay calm on the outside. "I can't promise you that. Because whatever happens, I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you're okay. That's the promise I can give you."

Even in the darkness and even from the corner of his eye, he could see Charlie stare at him, his mouth moving, yet no words coming out. "Did you understand anything of what I just told you?" he eventually exclaimed. He was talking louder now, he was upset.

Don was too, yet on the outside, his calm was still intact. "I do. I understand –"

"You don't understand a thing! I just saw you die right in front of me! Is it so hard to understand that I don't want that to happen for real?"

Don closed his eyes. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep up the facade of calmness. He knew what was going on in Charlie's head, he was understanding the situation much better than Charlie could even begin to imagine, but that didn't solve the problem at hand.

"So what should I do, according to you?" he started, directing his words at his hands and more than a little surprised that the calmness was still masking his voice, still hadn't abandoned him. "If you get into trouble, am I supposed to just look the other way or what?"

From the corners of his eyes, he could see that Charlie too was directing his words at his hands. Well, this was as close to talking to each other as they would get.

"I don't know," Charlie admitted in a low voice. "I only know that I couldn't bear if you got hurt, especially if you got hurt because of me."

Don bolted from the bed and paced the small room. Charlie's words had hit a nerve. Yeah, he understood what Charlie was feeling like, but Charlie had no right to feel like that, because it hadn't really happened. Don, on the other hand, had every reason to be upset, for his nightmare had been real, Charlie had gotten hurt, and he'd gotten hurt because of him, and now Charlie was twisting the knife in his wound.

"Alright, Charlie, here's how this works," Don said, noticing that his tone had become bitter and much less calm, but unable to help it. "It's my job to protect civilians, and you're a civilian, so when it comes down to it, I'm gonna protect you, end of story."

He waited. He waited for a reaction from Charlie, for an angry, witty retort, he was hoping for an argument that would finally put it all out in the open and free him of all those dark and cruel thoughts in his mind, of those cold and hot feelings in his heart. There wasn't a retort though, and only when Don recalled the words to his conscious mind did he become aware of what he'd really said there.

His mouth was suddenly dry and he whirled around to look at his brother. Charlie was still sitting there on the edge of his bed, head bent down, a picture of misery. Don was back next to him in an instant.

"I'm sorry, buddy," he said, his hand hovering a couple of inches above Charlie's back, afraid the contact might be unwanted. "I shouldn't have said that, it's not true, you're not just another civilian. That's not –"

He broke off because Charlie stood, following Don's example. Don nervously licked his lips and watched Charlie's pacing that ended at the window, his back towards him.

"I didn't mean it like that," Don repeated quietly, yet had to realize that a slight tremble had entered his voice. When his brother still didn't show a reaction, he continued making his point. "But it's a fact that I'm trained to protect people. So when a situation comes up that asks me to protect you, why should I stay down? This is what I do every day, so –"

"Just shut up, would you!"

Don flinched a little and stared into his brother's eyes that were still bright, but now more glaring than shining. A moment later, Charlie turned back to look out of the window, taking some deep breaths. Don could feel he wasn't finished yet, so he waited.

"That's exactly the point," Charlie eventually said, much calmer now, though with an obvious strain in his voice. "You risk your life for strangers on a daily basis and statistically speaking, that can't go well forever. So Dad and I permanently have to live with the fear that one day, you might not come back home to us, and you don't seem to have the slightest idea of how hard that is on us sometimes."

Don swallowed hard. For a moment, he pondered telling his brother how well he understood, that he was just as afraid to lose him, but he found that he couldn't bring himself to say those words. Therefore, he had to find another way to make Charlie realize that this wasn't the same thing, and he'd start with pointing out to him that he was painting a much gloomier picture than reality.

"That's not true," he said. "I don't risk my life on a daily basis. I take calculated risks, that's something entirely different. It hardly ever happens that I'm at risk of getting hurt on the job, probably not much more often than in any other job."

Charlie snorted and he could see him shake his head in disbelief. "So how do you explain what happened today?"

Don closed his eyes and sighed, bracing himself to maintain his calm, which was becoming increasingly difficult the more their conversation revolved around the day's events.

"What happened today was different –" he forced himself to say, but was cut off.

"How so?" Charlie challenged, his tone belligerent. "A guy holding a hostage threatens you with a weapon, you can't tell me that today was the first time that happened, nor that the situation is a lot different from what you encounter on your job at least on a monthly basis."

"It was," Don insisted, gnashing his teeth. "It was the first time with my own brother as the hostage."

Charlie gave another snort at that and Don could feel his anger boil. "As if you had acted differ-"

Don was on his feet in an instant. "You bet your ass I would have acted differently! You saw what my team did there today? Did you see anyone of them acting as foolishly as I did?"

He was standing only inches from Charlie now, so close that despite the darkness, he could see the confusion and hurt in his brother's eyes. He swallowed and turned away again, forcing himself to win his calm back.

"I'm not sure, I mean, I didn't..." he heard Charlie's stammers in his back and interrupted him, "Well, I can assure you that they didn't put themselves in harm's way, because they managed to keep their head. I didn't. I wasn't using my training today, not in the degree I should have, I was acting like the next best bystander, because this wasn't just another hostage situation, because you're _not_ just another civilian to me."

While he had been talking, his voice had lost much of its energy, and now that he was finished, he was feeling exhausted. He was reminded of how he'd stood there in the office, just a couple of hours ago, seeing his little brother in Wakefield's grip, and all the emotions from that moment were there again, all assailing him at once, overwhelming him. "Charlie, I need you to understand…" He hesitated, he didn't know how to say this. "When Wakefield had you, I was so scared..." he continued, remembering the fear that had been filling his entire self, the terror that still hadn't left him. "I would have done anything to protect you, Charlie. Anything."

Charlie bowed his head. Don waited tensely for a reaction, unsure whether he had appeased his brother or just irritated him further with his words. Yet, he would never take them back, for they were the most truthful thing he had said tonight.

"You've always done that," Charlie said quietly. There was the faintest of smiles on his lips, but even that hint soon vanished and what remained was something that reminded Don a lot of exhaustion. Charlie returned to his spot on the bed and as he passed him, Don saw the sadness in his eyes. He swallowed uneasily and his eye-brows were drawn together. It hurt him to see that look there.

"Done what?" he asked with a dry throat and carefully sat down next to Charlie, as if he was approaching a wounded animal that would run off as soon as he got too close.

"You've always tried to protect me. You've always watched out for me, even when it brought you in harm's way." He was silent for a moment, then continued, his words directed at his hands again, "You remember Eddie Logan?"

Don frowned, searching his mind and finding the answer, yet having no idea what Charlie was getting at with this. "That kid that picked on you when you were… what, nine, ten?"

Charlie nodded. "Nine."

Don made a gesture that was half a nod, half a shrug. "I remember I got into a fight with him after he was mean to you."

Charlie nodded again. "He used to harass me on my way home from school whenever I was walking alone. He would shove me against the wall or into the hedges and throw my school bag down the bridge or across the street. I didn't want to tell Mom or Dad, because I was afraid they wouldn't allow me to walk home alone anymore if they learned about it. So when one day, Eddie had managed to ruin my bag for good, I was too afraid to tell them."

"I remember that," Don put in quietly. "When I came home from baseball practice, you were trying to stitch it up." He could still see the image clearly in front of his inner eye, the scared and desperate look on Charlie's face, his eyes that were red-rimmed and puffy. "That was the first time I learned what Eddie had been doing to you. I lent you my old school bag and the next day, I waited for him on his way home to give him a taste of his own medicine."

Charlie chuckled softly, but it was a joyless, bitter laugh. "Not one of your smartest moves, wouldn't you agree? As I remember, he was a head taller than you? I think he was a year above you, too. Anyway, you needed to get stitches."

Don shrugged. "I remember," he said again. "What's your point?"

"My point is..." Charlie started, but had to try a second time, "My point is that I made a decision that day. The day that Eddie hurt you was the day that I stopped telling you when the other kids were mean to me. I didn't want you to pay the price for keeping me safe." He was finally looking up now, searching Don's eyes with an expression on his face that was so earnest that Don felt it to the bone. "I've never wanted that, Don. I've never wanted you to protect me, not like that."

Don stood again, taking the place in front of the window his brother had occupied earlier, looking outside, yet seeing the past. He hadn't known that. For as long as he could remember, his role in his relationship with his brother had been to watch out for him, to protect him from the dangers of this world. He'd never even considered the possibility that Charlie might not want him to do that.

And truth be told, Charlie probably wasn't fully aware what it was that he was asking of him now. That was a simple consequence of how well Don had been doing his job as a guardian, that Charlie was unaware of how dangerous the real world would have been for him if it hadn't been for the protection he was now claiming he didn't need.

The nagging voice in the back of his head reminded Don that Charlie had made his way in the world even without his big brother watching out for him, and the same voice kept relentlessly asking him why Charlie had gotten hurt today if Don was indeed such a great guardian as he liked to think of himself. In the end, of all the bullets that had been fired in the office today, his had been the only one to do damage to his brother. _Great guardian,_ _really_ _._

Don tried to push the voice aside and drown it with words of his own, and maybe that was why they came out less quietly than intended.

"Again, what would be the alternative?" he asked and noticed a little surprised how upset he sounded. Where had his calm gone? "I can't just sit around and watch you get into trouble. Besides, when we're on the job, you're my responsibility. When I bring you in on a case, I have to make sure nothing happens to you."

"But not by risking your own health –"

"Damn right by risking my own health!"

Don closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing again, already feeling sorry for his outburst. Then, he made a decision.

"Look, Charlie," he said and sat down next to him, "I don't think you understand. If you got hurt just because you'd been trying to help me on my cases..." He broke off, shook his head and started anew. "The thought alone terrifies me, just like the thought of me dying on the job seems to terrify you. Actually… Actually, I too had a nightmare about what happened today. It was exactly how it had been today, just that… just that I shot you."

He gave his brother an insecure glance, who was looking back at him with a frown on his face. "But you did shoot me. I mean, the bullet came from your gun."

For a couple of seconds, Don just stared at him, trying to take in the implications of his words. So Charlie knew that it had been him to shoot him. Apparently, he'd known all along, and still he was sitting here beside him instead of telling him to go to hell. Alright then. That was at least a groundwork they could build upon.

Filled with new hope, Don drew in a shaky breath and tried to bring order to the thoughts in his mind. He supported his head with his hands, embracing the cool feeling of his fingers against his hot forehead.

"What I mean," he forced himself to explain, fighting hard to keep his voice neutral and to keep the images of his nightmare at an arm's length, "is that in my nightmare, the ricochet didn't hit you in your arm. What I mean is that I… I shot and killed you." He could feel his brother's stare on him and that far too real scenery of the bullpen was back in front of his inner eye, making the words tumble out of his mouth. "The bullet hit you in your chest and you… there was nothing we could do, and you were bleeding really hard, and I... I felt you die in my arms."

His mouth had become dry and his voice raucous, the words scraping at his larynx, and maybe that was what made his eyes become wet.

He felt his brother shudder next to him, and even if he hadn't been busy with blinking to get rid of the moisture in his eyes, he wouldn't have dared to look at him, because he didn't want to see the look in his eyes.

"That's creepy," Charlie said.

Something like laughter escaped Don's throat. "Tell me about it." He noticed that his voice was still hoarse and impatiently, he wiped away the moisture from the corners of his eyes, taking some deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself down. He just had to remind himself that it hadn't really happened. True, it could have happened, it could have ended so much worse, but it hadn't, Charlie was sitting next to him, alive and breathing. It had been a close shave, but he hadn't gotten his brother killed, not this time at least.

"So," Charlie eventually said into the silence and cleared his throat, "am I getting this right, you're afraid for my safety as well? You think that if you're not there to protect me, something bad will happen to me, that's why you did what you did today?"

Don shook his head, biting his lip. "No... I mean yeah, but..." He couldn't very well say it like that, for he _had_ been there at the FBI today, so he should have been able to protect Charlie, but the fact that he hadn't been able to fulfill his duty today, whether as an agent or as a big brother, was too obvious to be ignored. So it was equally obvious that the error had to be lying somewhere else, and Don could feel his heart sink when he realized that he knew exactly where the error was, that he'd been aware of it for a long time, that he'd merely been a master in shutting his eyes from the truth.

"It's not that. I think that..." He broke off, cleared his throat and tried again, reluctant to say this, but feeling compelled to state what he knew was the truth. "I think that if I keep dragging you into my world, sooner or later you're gonna pay the price for that."

"But if it's okay for you –" Charlie tried to argue, but Don wouldn't let him, wouldn't let either of them find excuses any longer.

"I'm a trained agent, Charlie. You're a math professor. You shouldn't be around criminals." The look in his brother's eyes hit him hard, so he hurried to cushion the blow of his harsh words. "Don't get me wrong, I don't want to belittle what you've been doing for us there, but… I just can't let you take that risk any longer. Ever since we've started working together, I've been afraid that something like this might happen, because I knew all about the risks my job could bring to you, but I brought you in nonetheless, I let you walk right across the razor blade." There was a lump in his throat, and the effort it took Don to talk past it was making his voice raucous again. "I thought if I watched out for you, you'd be safe, but I was wrong. I was so damn wrong, and that's what could have cost you your life today." He took a moment to collect himself, then swallowed to be able to bring this to an end. "I guess that's what I'm really afraid of, that if I keep asking you to help us on our cases, sooner or later I'm going to get you killed."

He was looking at his brother from the side, trying to gauge his reaction. Charlie was silent for a long while before he said, very quietly, "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

 _Right_ , Don thought, feeling the sadness settle in his chest like a burning, searing liquid. He knew he shouldn't be surprised, though. This was the consequence he should have expected, the consequence he even should have pushed for way before now. Charlie wasn't safe as a consultant, so they had to stop doing this. Still, something inside him didn't want to face the truth.

"What are you saying?"

Before he answered, Charlie stood again, returning to his spot at the window and looking down at his beloved koi pond. "You know that nightmare about you dying on the job?" he said eventually and seemingly without context. "I've been having those for years, maybe about once in a month. I think Dad does, too. Anyway, what I'm trying to explain is that… well, we're worried about you. And I thought, maybe if I helped you out on your cases, that would make your job a little safer. I don't know, like helping you solve your problems would reduce your field work and make it easier for you to keep your head in difficult situations."

Don was frowning. This was news to him. "You mean you only started consulting for us because you were worried about me getting hurt on the job?"

Charlie shrugged a little uneasily. "It wasn't the only reason, but it was certainly a factor that made me push for it a little harder than I normally would have."

Don nodded, though still frowning, while he was seeing all those arguments he'd had both with his brother and with his bosses at the beginning of their working relationship in a whole different light. He'd never thought much about his brother's stubborn, almost obsessive tenacity in convincing Don to let him consult on their cases, he'd believed that was Charlie's normal stubbornness to pursue each and every idea that had popped up in his head. To tell the truth, Charlie's persistence in that matter, which Don had thought to stem from egocentrism or something similar, had managed to get on his nerves not little.

"I thought it had worked rather well most of the times," Charlie continued and Don jerked around his head to free his empty gaze from his hands and look at him instead, taking in the troubled expression on his face, "but if it doesn't, if instead my being there makes you _lose_ your focus, if it makes you take risks you wouldn't take otherwise…" He shook his head, looking up at Don helplessly. "I mean, if that's the case, what should we do now? How can we deal with this?"

Don had to clear his throat. A big lump had settled there, like a guard eager to stop any unwanted words coming through. Still, he had to say it, he had to make sure. "Look, buddy, if you want to stop consulting –"

"I don't," Charlie interrupted him, the clarity and simplicity of his words lifting a weight from Don he hadn't consciously known to be there. "I mean, this has been working really well, hasn't it? I can help people with this, and I can help keep people safe. I know I'm not an agent, Don, but I think I can help you. All I want is for you to be safe."

Don smiled, despite everything, and felt he was actually blushing a little. For a moment, he felt like laughing off his brother's words, because laughing them off would mean that he wouldn't have to let them come close to him, and if he didn't let them come close to him, he wouldn't be hurt if he ever came to find that they were false after all. Then, however, he realized how unfair that would be to his brother. The mere sincerity of his words called for a better solution than irony and sarcasm, for a real solution to this problem. They could no longer deny it, they were both afraid for each other's safety, and there was no reason why either of them should have the bigger claim or a deeper right to see his own fears appeased. It was similar to the dynamics that were at play in Don's team, albeit in an aggravated version.

So this was a real, tangible dilemma, alright, but if they were a team, how could they just give in at the first real problem that arose?

"Listen, Charlie," Don said and looked deeply into his brother's eyes, "I agree. I think this has been working really well, so I don't think we should get ahead of ourselves here and make any decision tonight, for I'm sure we can to work this out somehow. Let's just sleep on it and stop worrying about that for now, okay? I'm sure we should be able to find a way how to minimize the risk for both of us and still be able to work together." He felt his mouth twitch to another smile when he thought of how much he believed in the truth of his own words. He and Charlie had become such a good team these past few years, there didn't seem to be any problem they couldn't solve, so why shouldn't they be able to find a solution to this problem as well?

"So if you're so sure about that, why don't we give that a try right now?" Charlie asked with an insecure glimmer in his eyes.

Don looked back at him and the hint of a smile on his face vanished when he took in his brother's appearance. His eyes were looking back at him, still big and dark, still bespeaking the horrors of the past day and night. His face was almost deadly pale, and only now did Don become aware that he was trembling all over. He was looking beat, definitely not like having a weighty discussion about their working relationship.

"Look, buddy, I don't think we're in the right state of mind for that right now. Besides, I think you should go back to bed now, you really look like you could use a nap. There's no reason why we shouldn't wait till morning to try and work out some kind of compromise."

There was a smile on Charlie's lips, but the sad look in his eyes hadn't left yet. "You make it sound so easy."

"I didn't say it was easy. I'm saying we're gonna figure it out." He didn't know where his grin came from, he just knew that it felt good. "Wouldn't be the first seemingly impossible puzzle we solved, right?"

A grin back, only slightly reserved. "Right."

"Alright then. Sleep tight."

"You, too," Charlie said and stood to bring his bedclothes back in order.

Don had already turned back to the door when he noticed movement from the corner of his eye and stopped. Even in the dim light, he could see Charlie absentmindedly rub his arm and grimace with pain, and the glaring white of his bandage hurt Don in his eyes.

All of a sudden, his good mood was gone and his nervousness from earlier was back together with a leaden weight on his chest. He turned around to face his brother again, his fingers playing with the door handle. He knew he should leave and let him have some rest, but he couldn't leave just yet, for there was something he still had to straighten out.

He licked his lips nervously, unsure how to say what he needed to say. "So you're sure you're all set for the night? Or should I get you something from downstairs? You know, a glass of water, another pain killer, that sort of thing?"

Charlie was looking at him as though he had proposed going to a Céline Dion concert. "Don't be absurd. I can go down myself if I need anything."

Don nodded. "Of course," he said and turned back to the door, made insecure by his failed attempt. However, he still didn't manage to push down the handle, not until he hadn't gotten this off his chest.

"So how's the arm?" he asked eventually, going for a more direct approach. He'd turned back around to Charlie, but still hadn't let go of the door handle. Depending on how things would go, he felt like he needed an escape route.

Charlie shrugged. "Throbbing," he said. "Not too badly though."

Don nodded again, his fingers clenching the door handle nervously. He noticed he'd started sweating. "Okay, good." A second later, he'd rerun the conversation in his head and realized that his words had come out wrong. "No wait, I didn't mean to say that it was a good thing it's hurting. I meant I'm glad the bullet didn't do further damage. I mean, I'm not saying the damage it did do wasn't significant, I'm just… I mean, I'm just glad it didn't come worse than this. You know what I mean."

He broke off and bit his lip, but that couldn't change the fact that he'd been rambling, so badly in fact that there was hardly a chance that Charlie hadn't noticed. He looked into his brother's solemn eyes to gauge his reaction, but had to avert his gaze. Charlie's look was piercing through him, penetrating any cover he'd built for himself and revealing what this was really about.

"This wasn't your fault, Don."

"Of course it was my fault!" The door handle was out of his hand, as was the control over the situation. "It was _my_ bullet from _my_ gun while you were there trying to help me on _my_ job! How can this possibly _not_ be my fault?!"

Charlie hadn't moved in inch during Don's outburst. He was still standing there before him and talking in a quiet, almost soothing manner, even though Don didn't miss the tremble in his voice. "It was an accident. It was a ricochet. You couldn't foresee that I'd be hit by that."

Don heard his words and he knew they made sense, but still, how could they bear any meaning when their family had scraped inches past a tragedy? "But what if –"

"You did the right thing, Don. You stopped him before it was too late and before he could hurt anybody else. You prevented worse things from happening, you shouldn't blame yourself for what happened to my arm."

Don had his jaw set in an attempt to control his emotions and nodded, pretending to yield to his brother's logic.

"Don… I'm serious." Pretense or not, Charlie still seemed to be looking right through him, and it made Don simultaneously more nervous and more at ease. "I know how badly such nightmares can mess with your mind, but it didn't happen. You didn't get me killed, you were trying to _save_ my life, and it worked. You have to keep in mind that it never happened."

Don bit his lip and felt his facade crumble. He knew Charlie was right. He knew it had been an accident, and that he hadn't killed his brother. However, all his knowledge couldn't change the fact that he had hurt Charlie today, that he was the reason for the pain his brother was experiencing.

"I'm just so sorry," he whispered.

"I know," Charlie whispered back and a bit awkwardly took him in his arms. Don returned the embrace with as much force as he dared, needing to feel his living, breathing brother's body beneath his fingertips, needing to feel that kind of reassurance, to know that they were still okay, despite what he'd done.

"I know you're sorry, but you shouldn't be," Charlie went on calming him down. "No one would think of blaming you, except for yourself. You did the right thing. You need to let it go."

Don nodded, pressed his brother's body against his own one last time and then freed himself, clearing his throat. "You're right. I know that." And he did know. He had revised today's steps, had listened to his brother's logic and had reached a new verdict that had now been affirmed by the absolution he'd just gotten from his brother's own mouth. The only thing missing was for that verdict to reach his guts and make the feeling of guilt go away, but now that his mind had accepted the paradigm shift, he knew that was only a matter of time. The accusation from his guilty conscience that had provoked his nightmare had been examined and the charges had been dropped, and the relief Don felt at that made him almost giddy. Confiding his innermost feelings to his brother had actually made him feel better, for instead of rejection, he was experiencing understanding and healing. "Thanks, buddy. I appreciate this."

He smiled when he realized what had happened here. Both he and Charlie might consider themselves two very self-reliant individuals who didn't ask for anyone's help, neither personally nor in their efforts to make the world a safer place, but neither of them could deny the gift they both had received tonight. They had both been endowed with the assurance that were watching out for each other no matter what, and try as he might, Don couldn't think of anything that might make him feel safer than the knowledge of that.

\- finis -


	15. Overpowered

**Disclaimer:** Just as I was about to post this chapter, I felt overpowered by the urge to tell you that Numb3rs and its characters don't belong to me.  
 **Rating:** I'd say T.  
 **Timeline:** feels like season 3

* * *

 **Overpowered**

David sighed and tried not to wince when he saw Charlie approach the waiting area. He'd known that it hadn't been a good idea to tell him the news on his voice mail, but on the other hand, they hadn't been able to reach him otherwise (not surprisingly, considering the late hour), and Charlie would have been rightly upset if they hadn't notified him immediately.

Still, it didn't seem like he had taken the news very well. He was looking slightly disheveled, his face was white, like a mask, the only splash of color in it his red-rimmed eyes. The worst part, however, was the look in those eyes. It made David cringe inwardly, there was something definitely not right with those eyes.

They were looking at him now delivering the question that Charlie didn't seem to have the strength to put into words, and David, having pity on him, gave him the answer before he had to try and find some hidden reserves from where he might have summoned up that strength.

"He's okay," he said, holding up his hands in a placating manner. "He's been drugged and it's gonna take another couple of hours before that thing has worn off, so he's still out, but the doctors say he should be back home within a day or two."

Charlie nodded and closed his eyes and David, not trusting the mathematician's knees seeing his white face, quickly put an arm around his shoulders. "Come on, let's find you a chair." He guided him to one of the vacant seats in the waiting area and repressed another sigh of relief when Charlie was sitting and thus the risk of him toppling over had been minimized. "Your dad should be right back, they just asked him to fill in some forms."

Charlie merely gave him another nod, his eyes still closed, and buried his head in his hands. It only now occurred to David that ever since he'd arrived, Charlie hadn't said a single word. He bit his lip and let his gaze wander over the rest of the mathematician's figure. There wasn't just the pallor of his skin that gave David reason for alarm, but now that he was properly looking at him, he couldn't miss the slight tremors that went through his body. Also his breathing was still laborious, still not right.

Now that the gesture could go unnoticed, he grimaced with pity after all, trying to ignore the hint of impatience awakening within him. Yes, he knew that Charlie was afraid of losing Don, he knew he had issues in that area, but he could still try to pull himself together, right?

"Hey," David tried again, putting a hand on the mathematician's shoulder. "He's gonna be fine. I'm sorry for getting you worked up over this, we just couldn't tell how bad it was, but now we know he's been extremely lucky. He wasn't hurt, and the drug didn't do any permanent damage." At least as far as the doctors could tell at this point of time, but David sure as hell wasn't going to allow any doubt concerning Don's full recovery, certainly not in front of his troubled brother.

He saw Charlie swallow hard as he gave him another nod, and that was when David understood that this _was_ Charlie's way of pulling himself together. And to tell the truth, it could have been worse. Besides, what did David know about what was going on in Charlie's mind? Getting a call in the middle of the night that his brother had been attacked and was now in the hospital, even when they had tried to deliver the news as optimistically as had been advisable at the time, was bound to start his mental cinema screen. And David had to admit that with a federal agent as his brother, and not to forget all the things he might have seen during his work as a consultant for various agencies, Charlie's mental cinema might have been much more imaginative than that of the average person. He shouldn't judge him for having a hard time dealing with this.

And so, they sat there in silence until Alan came back, and that was when David took his leave. When he was already at a couple of yards' distance, he turned around to look back at the two Eppes men, and for a moment, it hit him how unfair their job was to their loved ones. Tonight, however, they had been lucky, and maybe that was the real lesson they should learn from this.

* * *

Don winced as he stood and thought that maybe, it wasn't such a bad idea after all that he wasn't cleared for field duty yet. His body was still aching at times, especially when he'd been sitting for a while, and he also had to admit that chasing after a criminal wouldn't have worked out very well these days. Then again, he was well aware that he'd been damn lucky to come away with just a couple of bruises.

It was still stinging him that he'd let himself become overpowered that easily. By now, several days after the attack, his team had been able to close the case and arrest the cartel they'd been investigating. Even though Don was glad that one more human trafficking ring was out of business, he couldn't help but notice that he himself hadn't done very much to see that through, hardly anything besides getting knocked out, while his team had done outstanding work. So he was still not feeling at ease about the attack, but what had helped to get some closure had been the fact that with apprehending the whole gang, they'd also caught his attacker. And what had helped to heal his wounded pride was the fact that until a few years ago, the guy had been a special ops soldier, so Don had told himself to lick his wounds and get back on his feet.

Work had soon occupied him enough to not make him think about his experience too much. Just yesterday, they had been assigned another more complex case – they were to investigate an infamous drug cartel – and Don had no idea how they were going to get some insight, because everyone involved in the matter was either gaining too much money to be willing to testify, or they were too scared of the cartel taking revenge on them.

So he pinned his hopes on what he'd learned to rely on even though he still felt compelled to justify his method every now and then and even though a couple of years ago, he would have declared anyone insane who would have suggested that he was ever going to rely on something as outlandish as that, and that was the powers of math.

"Hey Amita, hey Charlie," he greeted them when he saw them approach. "Thanks for coming, let's go in there," he said and led them into one of the conference rooms to brief them about their newest case.

"Sure," Charlie mumbled as the door closed behind them.

Don studied him, a frown on his face. It hadn't eluded him that Charlie had been avoiding him these last couple of days, and it hadn't been hard to guess the reason. Charlie had a tendency to overreact whenever things didn't go the way he preferred them to go, so the fact that he was having a hard time dealing with the attack hadn't really come as a surprise. At the same time, however, Don had found it beyond his power to take care of Charlie's need to hear reassurances. He'd told him he was fine and that had been it, and if Charlie had still trouble dealing with this, so be it. Time and necessity would soon make him come to his senses again, and until that was the case, Don wasn't going to waste any more energy on lifting him up, for to tell the truth, he couldn't afford wasting his energy these days.

"So we're investigating a drug syndicate and we're trying to follow the money," he explained, realizing with satisfaction that while Charlie still didn't seem to be at ease around him, there was focus in his eyes, even though he seemed a lot more somber than usual. "We're trying to get our hands on something solid by that so we can get to the big bosses and arrest them."

"So you want us to figure out a way to tell you which money is dirty and which isn't?" Amita asked.

"Something like that," Don confirmed. "We were wondering if there's a way to tell which sums are being used for similar purposes, you know, grouping them in a way."

"I guess we could insert some algorithms for you that would work like search engines," Amita thought out loud. "We could –"

"No," Charlie interrupted her, "too many variables."

Don raised an eyebrow. Was it just him or could Charlie have phrased that in a less offhand manner?

He gave Amita a side-glance and noticed that she seemed to have similar thoughts. She was definitely looking a little hurt.

"But if we –" she tried again, but was again cut off.

"Search engines would require you to know what you're looking for. We need to look at the data as a whole and analyze it first without being biased."

"But they could group the transactions looking for example for gambling-related –"

"That bears the risk of overlooking things. Let's just do it my way this time, alright?"

Don's eyebrow went up a little further and he watched the tension in Amita's jaw grow. His brother however took no notice of that, he was already busy with setting up his laptop to get to work.

"Alright," Amita said eventually with a tone that bore unmistakable signs of anger, "let's do it your way."

When Don realized that his role as the observer had to be exchanged for something more action-oriented, he cleared his throat. "Alright, I'll make sure you'll get all the data you need."

With that, he left the two scientists to their work. At the door, he halted and glanced back, not sure what to think about this. Yeah, Charlie seemed a little off, but he had his math look back on his face. There was focus in his eyes, the kind of focus he got whenever he immersed himself in a mathematical problem, so that had to mean he was functioning the way he usually did. On the other hand, Don couldn't miss the serious look upon his face. This wasn't merely an expression of concentration, this was much grimmer. And then his behavior towards Amita… Don really didn't want to get mixed up in their relationship, but given that his brother didn't seem to have a clue how much he'd hurt his girlfriend there, and that she might not be his girlfriend for much longer if he continued treating her this way, he didn't think he had much of a choice.

He shook his head and told himself to stop thinking about this. This was none of his business. Charlie would bounce back sooner or later and figure out for himself how to behave himself, and if he didn't, there was still time to put him straight.

* * *

Amita was hesitating when she came to the door of Charlie's office. She even considered knocking. After all, the door was closed, which was unusual enough. Besides, given how things had been going between Charlie and her these last couple of days, there was a good chance he might not be willing to see her.

In the end, she knocked, but stepped in before he had a chance to tell her to stay outside.

"Hey Charlie," she said and forced herself to smile. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

He gave her a quick glance, then turned back to his blackboard. "Nothing too important, no."

And yet, he continued writing.

"Good," Amita said despite his unwelcoming posture and stepped inside fully to close the door. "Because I've been meaning to talk to you."

"About what?"

Amita clenched her jaw and was fighting to hold back tears. Charlie was still writing on the board. Still ignoring her.

"Can we sit?"

That finally gave her his attention. He was looking her in the eye as though he was trying to decipher what she was thinking, and Amita couldn't help but wonder if he was having more success than she was having the other way round. Only a moment later, he broke eye-contact again, and motioned towards the chair at the other side of his desk.

"Please."

Amita regarded the chair and hesitated briefly. The setting was a little too formal for her taste, she didn't want to feel like his student again. On the other hand, he'd be forced to look at her if they were sitting on opposite sides of the desk.

"It's just that..." Amita started when they had both sat down, and she hated herself when she realized that it was now her who was avoiding eye-contact. She closed her eyes in concentration, summoning up the strength she needed to see this through. When she had collected herself, she looked up at him, preparing to fight.

"We need to talk this out."

She had given her words a deliberately firm tone and was knotting her hands into each other to hide her nervousness. Whatever way this was going to end, she wasn't going down without a fight.

Charlie, on the other hand, seemed to be choosing flight instead. Being confronted with the expression in her eyes, he turned his head to look out of the window, directing his words towards the campus. "What do you mean?"

 _If only I knew_ , she thought. She felt her desperation grow and forced herself to take another deep breath. They had to talk this out, so she had to stay firm and levelheaded.

"Well, you tell me," she said.

"You're the one who wanted to talk."

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. "You really want to pretend that there's nothing wrong between us?"

He was silent, still avoiding her eyes.

"Look, I know you're worried about Don, and I know you're still upset about what happened to him, and I understand that. But… Charlie, lately you've been treating me in a way…" She took a deep breath and tried again. "You've been treating me in a way that makes it difficult for me to believe that this is all just about Don, because it seems that you're having a problem with _me_ , and if there is a problem, I deserve to know."

More silence.

"We made a commitment to each other, so you can't just withdraw yourself and play solo. If you have a problem with me, you need to tell me."

She clenched her teeth harder, forbidding herself to break into tears and thereby destroy the forceful effect of her words, yet mortally afraid to hear his answer.

He shook his head. "It's not you. I'm sorry if you got that impression."

She swallowed in an attempt to get rid of the lump that had risen to her throat. Her fear had increased, and she tried to mask it with increased anger. "What's that supposed to mean, 'it's not me'?"

Charlie shook his head and intently studied the desk.

"I deserve to know," she repeated, watching his fingers that were twisting a paperclip and noticing that she was having more and more difficulty holding the tears back.

"Look, I'm sorry, but there's nothing you can do. I have… I have to deal with some stuff, and I'll have to do that on my own first."

And just like that, her tears broke free. "You're in love with someone else, aren't you?"

He was looking at her finally. "What?"

She was searching his eyes, finding that troubled look he'd had for days, but only confusion underneath, real confusion, and no lies.

"I'm not in love with someone else, Amita, I swear, there's no one else, that's not it."

There was a kind of sincerity in his voice that was tugging at her heart, because for the first time in days, it felt as though there was the old Charlie again, the one she could trust blindly and understand by the mere language of their eyes.

"Then what?" she asked and wiped her eyes. She was crying for real now.

"Amita..."

She saw him reach for her hands, then draw back before he came anywhere close to holding her, just like he'd been avoiding to touch her for days now. She was starting to feel as though she was suffering from leprosy.

She draw in air through her nose, trying to regain control over her breathing, to stop the sobbing. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong? Why don't you trust me?"

"I trust you, it's just..." He bit his lip and she could see that his eyes had become moist as well. "I trust you," he repeated as though he had to convince himself of that. "But I..."

He ran his hands over his face, but kept them there to hide the greater part of it. His eyes were closed and there were deep lines on his forehead, like trenches behind which battles of life and death were being fought.

"Something happened," he started and Amita held her breath. "That night that Don was attacked… that night, I was attacked as well."

She frowned. All of a sudden, there was an uncomfortable tingling in her stomach and she didn't understand where it was coming from, because she didn't understand what was going on. Yet, the answer was already there in her mind, right in the middle with no hints as to how she had come to that conclusion, yet standing there with an air of self-assuredness that hardly left her an opportunity for doubt. Yet, she had to doubt, for she had to be mistaken.

"What do you mean?"

He moistened his lips and opened his mouth, then closed it again. He tried again, took a breath, but no words were coming out.

Eventually, he shook his head. "I don't know how to say this," he all but whispered.

She reached for his hand, acting on an impulse, and she knew. She hadn't been mistaken. It explained everything, it was the only solution she could think of explaining everything, but at the same time, she was reluctant to accept the idea, for this couldn't be, Charlie couldn't have –

"I was raped."

She closed her eyes and pressed his hand harder, desperate to feel him, to hold onto him, to maintain this last bastion of fixity while her whole world was dissolving into a whirling vortex and crumbling to pieces, chaos ensuing and confusion. She felt him returning her grip with the same strength, with the same need for reassurance and she swore herself to never let go. She opened her mouth, she wanted to say something, she wanted to let him know that she was going to be there, that she wasn't going anywhere, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She was feeling so scared that she couldn't do anything, and yet she would have had difficulty to describe what exactly she was so scared of.

To tell the truth, she was miserable. She was feeling sick, she was nauseous and dizzy and hot, and for a moment, she thought she couldn't get in any air. She tried to concentrate on the feeling underneath her fingertips, on his hands, and after some moments, it worked.

She looked up into his face, still not finding any words, and studied the lines on his forehead, watched the tiny muscles twitch around his eyes and nose and jaw. She could tell he was trying to maintain control, he was trying to hold it all in, and she bit her lip to prevent her own tears from spilling. It was of no use, however. The levee broke and there was no stopping the tears, not while her heart was slowly being torn apart, causing her a kind of pain she had never felt before. As she was studying the face of the man she loved and the distress she could see in his features, she was overwhelmed by feelings of sadness and helplessness that were so strong that she thought they were tearing her apart from the inside, cutting up her soul into tiny pieces of confetti that were thrown into that black, winding river of sorrow, slowly drowning there.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. She knew that her words were inadequate, but it had been the best she had come up with. And anyway, what was there to say in such a situation, when the world had broken down, when people were hurting other people in such a horrid way, when someone had hurt the love of her life?

He just nodded. As she saw the twitching on his face become worse, she quickly rounded the desk, never letting go of his hand. She knelt before him, desperate to make him see that she was there, that she wasn't going anywhere. And then, guiding his head against her shoulder and breathing in his scent, she let him cry.

* * *

"So you see here, that's irregularities in the money movements, but we still couldn't figure out where exactly the money went, we only know that we need to take a further look at these routes, see here?"

Don watched Charlie's finger go over the screen and point at the different dots and lines he was talking about. "And can you do that? I mean, can you figure out where exactly these routes go?"

Charlie tilted his head, an unhappy expression on his face. "I'm not sure, I mean I can try, but I can't promise that there'll come anything out of it. They seem to have been quite thorough, it might take me a while."

"Anything you could do, we'd appreciate it."

"Alright, I'll get right to it," he said, and just like that, his brother was gone, and back was that insecure mumbling consultant that it felt awkward being around.

Don suppressed a sigh and watched him from the side as he closed the programs on his computer and shut it down. True, he had thawed and behaved in his usual way while he'd been talking about his beloved numbers, but at all other occasions, Don could see that he was still feeling uncomfortable being here at the office. So alright, he was no fan of violence, but this was getting a little exaggerated, Charlie was taking this attack too much to heart.

Too bad for Don that he couldn't just leave that problem to his brother to solve. He couldn't help it, he felt responsible for him, not just because he was his big brother, but also because he was the one who had introduced Charlie into this violent world – and the one who had let himself become overpowered and thereby shown that ugly side of his world to his little brother once again. And while Don still thought that Charlie would probably bounce back eventually, the fact that Amita hadn't accompanied him to the FBI today left him uneasy. Destroying his brother's innocence had been bad enough, but Don couldn't be the fuel that destroyed his relationship on top of that.

"So how are things going with Amita?"

Charlie gave him a quick glance, obviously surprised by the question, and not in a pleasant way. "Good," he said, concentrating on the task of packing up his laptop with a diligence that wasn't really necessary and that told Don that his main goal was avoiding eye-contact.

As if that would deter him. "You do know though that you shouldn't take her for granted, right?"

Charlie gave him another quick glance, but again directed his eyes at anywhere else. "I know. I told you, we're good."

Before Don had time to voice his doubts concerning his brother's assessment, the door opened and Megan was sticking her head in. When she saw Charlie, her face lit up. "Charlie, perfect! David said you might be able to help us, something with a hot zone?" She held up the file in her hand and turned towards Don. "I'm pretty sure they're linked, and I think we may look at a lot more victims than those two."

Don sighed and cursed softly, then turned towards his brother, "Would you mind hanging around for another bit? We just got assigned a new case and… well, if it's indeed serial, I'd be glad about all the help we can get."

"Sure," Charlie said and followed him to join the rest of the team.

David was just finishing preparing the information he was about to show them and merely threw them a quick greeting when they came in. Only a minute later, Colby arrived and David started presenting the preliminary findings the LAPD had come up with so far before turning the case over to them.

"So we think that this new case might be connected to another one last year," he started and showed them the pictures from the victims' driver's licenses. "Anthony Cunningham, 28, he was found in a public park in Riverside eight months ago, and now Pete Morrison, 24, who was found yesterday morning behind a dumpster in an alley close to his home in Anaheim." He showed them the pictures of the corpses how they had been found and went on, "They present with similar injuries. Before they were raped, they were apparently both attacked and tried to defend themselves, and we also found the same barbiturate in their systems, although the dosage in Anthony Cunningham was almost twice as large as the one in Pete Morrison."

Don turned his head just enough to be able to check on his brother, but had to take a double look. Charlie's face had a green taint to it and he had pearls of sweat on his face.

"Pull up the map," he told David.

He was looking back at his boss a little confused first before his gaze fell on Charlie and he hastened to follow the order. "Of course. Here." The corpses disappeared and Don could see how Charlie's breathing set in again. "So we have the first murder here, and the second one here." He had digitally marked the spots with red x-es. "We were thinking that maybe Charlie could do another hot zone analysis to find the center of our killer. Of course two cases aren't much to go on, but Megan thinks we may be looking at a lot more victims."

"How so?" Don asked her directly.

"Until now, we've only looked for links to other homicides, since they're the more obvious overlaps," she explained. "However, I think that the changes between those two cases are pretty indicative of an evolution that the killer went through. Not only has the dosage of the barbiturate been lowered to a non-lethal level, but also the scene of the crime and the reduced amount of defensive wounds make me think that we're looking more at a rapist than at a killer, one who must have had a number of victims between these two who survived the attack."

"So explain this to me," Colby said, "didn't you say he used a non-lethal dose on Morrison? Then how come he's dead?"

"He had a heart condition," David took over again. "The coroner said the barbiturate must have interfered with his medication and led to cardiac arrest. He said that in a healthy man, the drug would have led to reduced consciousness, but not to any lasting effects."

"Anything else we know about this barbiturate?" Don asked. "Is it some over-the-counter drug or some home-made cocktail or what are we looking at?"

"According to our lab, it doesn't seem to be something common, so it might be the guy's own recipe, that's also what made us so sure that these two cases are linked. As far as they can tell, its effects must be insofar similar to date-rape drugs in that the victims are incapacitated, but its chemical composition also suggests that neither the victim's awareness is reduced nor their memory suffers."

"So we seem to be looking at someone with at least some basic knowledge of chemistry and pharmaceutics," Don said for the record. Then he turned to Megan, "Anything else we can say about him?"

She nodded and consulted her notes. "At first glance, I would say that we can be reasonably certain that he's male and relatively strong physically. His MO suggests that he's more comfortable in a physical altercation than with words, since he tackles his victims by surprise instead of luring or tricking them. That might also mean that he's insecure in his everyday life and commits these acts as some form of gaining self-assuredness or a self-worth. That might also explain why he chose a drug that leaves the memory unimpaired, because that gives him a feeling of power over his victims that lasts even after the crime itself. It's possible he picked out his victims beforehand and watched them while he waited for a good opportunity to jump them, that would explain how well the crime scenes fit his purposes, and it would also explain why we haven't found any witnesses."

"And of course he's gay," Colby added when Megan seemed to have finished.

She gave him a stern look, so he held up his hands in defense. "What? I don't mean any disrespect, I just think it's something we should know and keep in mind about this rapist-killer, don't you think?"

"No, because we don't know that," Megan said. "Just because he's raping males doesn't tell us anything about his sexual orientation."

Colby looked at her with confusion. "You've lost me."

She sighed a little dramatically and let it show that despite the serious topic, she was enjoying the teasing a little. "Don't you ever listen, Granger? Rape is rarely about sexual gratification, not in the strict sense. In most cases, it's about power, which of course can lead, as a secondary effect, to some sort of sexual gratification. But the point is that this is not about the sexual act itself, it's about overpowering the victim and performing the sexual act against the victim's will. So maybe our guy takes men for the challenge, for the kick, because they're typically stronger physically than women."

"Okay," Don said and pushed the papers of the files together, "so if that's everything we have so far, I think we should talk to the victims' families once more – Megan, I suggest you and I do that – and David and Colby, you take a look at other rape victims and figure out which ones may have been attacked by this guy. Charlie, can you already try and do something with that hot zone thing?"

He pressed his lips together when his eyes landed on his brother. Charlie was still beyond pale and his eyes were wide and still staring at the screen as though he was still seeing the corpses of the dead naked men. Don cursed inwardly. This was one of the times when he was compelled to seriously question Charlie's collaboration on their cases. This just wasn't fair to him. He was a mathematician, for G-d's sake, he had a good job with a good income and he certainly didn't need to do this, which once again brought the question to Don's mind why his brother was doing this to himself in the first place. Of course he knew that Charlie had these idealistic views of a juster society, and of course he was aware that he'd always been willing to spend time with and/or help his big brother, but were those motives really enough of a reason for him to accept the cost of being confronted with the ugliness of this world?

Only with a second of delay did Charlie find his voice again and even when he did, it was only gradual. He began in stammers and had to clear his throat to give his words at least something close to professionalism.

"I, uh… I don't… I think I should help with the files first. I could write a program that can sort through your database a lot faster than if you did that manually."

Don opened his mouth, but found that he first had to think for a second before answering. Yes, Charlie's offer came unexpected, but it actually didn't sound like too bad an idea. "Okay. Good. In that case, David and Colby, you should concentrate on the drug syndicate again, Charlie just got us some results on the money flows." He looked at his watch. They had another hour to get something done, but it made no sense to talk about their findings today. "We're going to gather our findings tomorrow before lunch."

* * *

It was 11 am when Charlie stepped into the elevator, choosing the far left corner while other people were getting on. As the carriage was filling with people and he retreated further into his corner in order to preserve at least some personal space, he felt that he was starting to sweat, and his shirt suddenly felt a lot tighter even though he had left the uppermost button open.

He closed his eyes. A wave of dizziness washed over him and he had to lean against the wall.

 _Calm down_ , he told himself. _You need to calm down. You can't let anyone see that something's wrong._

He still didn't know how to do this, even though he had been agonizing over how to go about this encounter ever since yesterday afternoon, ever since the possibility had come up that he would need to come out to Don after all. For the first time, he'd cursed himself for having reported the rape. He hadn't at first, but after that night of horrors had been over, his conscience just hadn't shut up. He'd been around law enforcement long enough to know that the worst he could do when a crime had been committed, especially a violent crime, was to not report it. So he'd bitten the bullet and he had told himself that he'd done his duty and that nobody would be the wiser after all, at least nobody who knew him. But then, last night, when he'd gone through the files, his worst fears had been confirmed. He'd made the list. Now, there was no more hope that he wouldn't pop up in this investigation. He was one of the possible victims, and there was no way he could keep this from Don.

At least, he'd managed to keep it from anyone else, and his goal had to be to keep things that way. He wasn't sure how or even whether it was going to work, but he figured that if he told Don that he was on the list as well, his big brother wouldn't be able to investigate this case further due to being personally involved, so also the team wouldn't poke around in this affair any longer. True, the idea that someone else from Don's office would learn what had happened to him was disconcerting, but it was still a lot easier to accept than having to face Don's team once they'd learned the truth.

While his mind had kept coming up with bad and worse scenarios, he had been so fixated on finding his brother that he was startled when out of nowhere, David appeared in his line of sight.

"Charlie, hey, how's it going? Don's still upstairs, but he said you should show us what you've got."

It took Charlie a second to understand what David had said, and when he had, he still didn't know how to react properly.

"Are you feeling okay?" David asked. The expression on his face had turned a little worried. "You don't look so good."

"I'm fine," Charlie managed to utter and turned around his own axis as though he would be able to spot his brother after all.

"So can you show us what you've got?"

He felt the heat rise to his head and licked his lips. His mouth felt suddenly very dry. "I'm… I'd rather wait for Don."

The frown on David's forehead grew deeper as his expression changed from worry to confusion. "I'm telling you, he said we should just go ahead without him."

Charlie thought of the list in his bag, thought of his name on it that was standing there beneath all the other victims with the definitiveness and self-assuredness of black ink on paper and without the possibility of being overlooked. He pressed the bag harder against his body, as though he was afraid David might snatch it from him any moment.

"I'd really rather wait for Don," he repeated, noticing that despite his best efforts, his throat had closed up, making his voice sound thin and tremulous.

"Okay," David said a little hesitantly and the worry crept back on his face. "Why don't you sit down while you wait for him, you're looking a little peaky there."

Warring with himself whether he would draw even more attention and suspicion to himself by accepting David's offer or whether it might help getting him off his back, Charlie stood a little undecidedly next to his brother's cubicle. Before he'd made up his mind, he heard his name being called out and turned around.

"Charlie, great, you're already here." As he watched Don come closer, he felt both relief and panic grow inside him, both feelings fighting for control so fiercely that he hardly managed to breathe. "Did you already show your results to David and Colby?"

Charlie could see how his brother's gaze went from him to his co-workers and when it wandered back to him, a frown grew on his face. "Something wrong?"

In an attempt to make the lump in his throat go away, Charlie swallowed. Then he gathered all his courage and said, "Could we maybe talk privately?"

He saw that his brother's eye-brows had gone up, he could see David still standing there expectantly and he could feel Colby's confused stare in his back. He tried to ignore that though and just kept hoping that Don wouldn't ask for a reason, at least not in front of them.

"Uh… yeah, sure," he said, with a hint of wariness seeping through his surprise now. "Let's go in there."

Charlie kept his head bent down as he entered the conference room first, concentrating on keeping his knees from buckling. Don hadn't closed the door yet when his flight reflex threatened to kick in. This was a mistake. He couldn't do this. He had to get out of here. He –

"So what's going on?"

He couldn't. He couldn't say it.

His body acting on its own account, he turned his head to look back out of the conference room, towards Don's two team members, who were both pretending to be busy, both betraying their curiosity by their body language.

"What's wrong, Charlie?"

Charlie still couldn't look him in the eye, but he managed to turn around towards him, show him he wasn't ignoring him. He just had to get this over with now.

He fumbled with the fastening of his bag and pulled out a copy of the file, _his_ file, choosing to get the biggest problem over with first before he'd turn his attention to the list. He almost didn't manage, his fingers were sweaty and trembling.

"Your rapist," he managed to say, clutching the file in his hand, but couldn't go on.

"What about him? You think that's another one of his victims?"

Charlie nodded again, his gaze oscillating between his brother's eyes and the hand he was stretching out towards him, waiting for him to pass the file over to him, and as though driven by a force foreign to himself, Charlie felt his arm stretch out and obey the silent order.

"Okay," Don said very slowly as he tore the file out of his fingers and gave him a scrutinizing stare.

The moment Charlie felt the paper withdraw from his fingers, he became acutely aware of how badly his legs were shaking. He let himself sink into the closest chair he could find and ran his hands over his face, realizing only now how clammy it was.

His eyes were fixed on the desk as he listened to Don opening the file. Then there was silence, a silence so deep that the noises from the bullpen outside seemed screeching and roaring. He tried concentrating on his breathing. In and out, in and out. He noticed his fingers were hurting and it was only then that he realized that he'd cramped them up around the armrests of his chair. With his mouth still closed, he sucked his lower lip between his teeth, biting it hard, waiting desperately for his brother to say something, to relieve him of the tension. Don knew how to read a file, he knew how to extract the core information at first glance. He had to become aware by now what was going on.

"What's this?"

Even though Charlie had been waiting for a reaction from his brother so anxiously, he still couldn't keep himself from flinching. He was keeping his gaze fixed on the desk. He couldn't put a name on what he was afraid of, he just knew that he didn't want to see the look upon his brother's face right now. Neither was he able to speak. What was there to say, after all? Don knew what he was holding in his hands, he had it right there in black and white.

Charlie flinched again when his brother abruptly stood and rushed past him and out of the door without saying another word. His gaze was kept on the desk though that was staring back at him with its smooth surface void of any expression whatsoever.

* * *

Don could hear his breathing unnaturally loud in his ears as he was hurrying down the stairs, desperate to get somewhere, _anywhere_ where he could get some air. He was feeling like he was going to suffocate, and maybe that was why his brain felt like it was wavering in his skull in a mass that didn't feel quite right, making him feel dizzy. He kept seeing Charlie's picture in front of his inner eye, his torso bruised, his arms skinned. What was unsettling him most though was the look in Charlie's eyes. It was filled with pain, but somehow at the same time, it was empty. There was nothing there behind those eyes, there was no one, no personality, as though Charlie's soul had disappeared and only left behind those empty eyes as some lifeless reflection of his former self.

It struck him that for the past few days, Charlie had had a very similar expression on his face, not as dull as in the picture, but with the same sadness. And even though Don had noticed that something was wrong, he had failed to see just how wrong it was, he had drawn the wrong conclusions. And so, he had continued life as usual while his brother had been struggling with a kind of pain that Don couldn't even begin to imagine.

He'd failed him.

His heart almost stopped and his feet denied their service. He was doing it again. He was letting him down. The moment when Charlie had told him what had happened, the moment when he would have needed him most, Don's reaction had been to run away.

Filled with panic and with the relentless urge to make things right again, Don turned around, back up the stairs, dying to get back to his brother. However, it felt as though he was never going to reach his office, the stairwell stretching apart like an accordion and he felt his strength leave with every step, with every flight of stairs he took. Three flights missing… two... one…

Eventually, he'd made it, he was back to his floor, hurried past his co-workers once more and only seconds later tore the door open to the room Charlie was still sitting in, a picture of misery.

He'd meant to say something, to apologize, but he found that he couldn't. He felt his mouth open and he tried to get the words out, but there were none. Only after what seemed like ages, a sound was produced by his tense vocal chords and left his mouth, not even a word, only a stammer, a grunt, but once the silence barrier was broken, the way was made free for words.

"I'm sorry. I needed some air."

He felt like crying, or shouting, or pulling out his hair. He'd had his chance, he'd found his voice again and could have made it all right, he could have apologized, he could have consoled his brother, but what had he used his newly found ability for? _I needed some air_.

On the other hand, wasn't the idea completely illusional? Wasn't it more than unlikely that he should be able to make things right again?

"It's okay," Charlie said, his voice husky, yet toneless. "I kind of expected that."

Don felt the heat rise to his head, as though his body was trying to provide his brain with everything he needed to understand his brother and to react accordingly. It wasn't working, though. He didn't understand.

"What do you mean?"

Charlie shrugged, but the expression in his eyes was screaming so loudly that Don probably wouldn't have heard him anyway.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked more forcefully, more desperately, feeling like he was yet again failing his brother that was irrecoverably floating away from him.

Charlie shrugged again and his eyes were still screaming with pain, and yet his quiet, broken voice seemed to be screaming even louder as he all but whispered, "I'd avoid me too if I were able to."

It was as though his brother's pain was screaming at him, overflowing to him. "Don't say that," he begged.

His words didn't have any effect on his brother. Charlie kept staring at the desk, fighting continuously to control his facial expressions.

"Charlie… you can't put this on yourself," Don went on. He was reminded of all the interviews of rape victims he'd conducted over the course of his career, and when he thought that Charlie… he was so sick that he felt like bolting straight to the men's room. He couldn't, though, not again. "This wasn't your fault."

Charlie's lips distorted to something like a smile. "Are you sure?" he asked, very quietly. "Were you there?"

Don swallowed thickly. "I just know," he claimed. "I know you." His gaze fell on the list that Charlie had compiled and put in the back of the file, the list where right at the end, his own name was standing out. "You wanna say it was their fault?"

Charlie shrugged and Don felt as though his own heart was cracking open and bleeding out slowly as he watched him tear up.

"I don't know," Charlie said, his voice having become husky. "Maybe there's something wrong with us."

"There's not," Don contradicted, aware that his own voice sounded just as husky as his brother's.

"Then why us?" Charlie asked and suddenly his eyes had let go of the desk and were looking at Don, bright with shed and unshed tears, with an anguish set so profoundly in their depths that Don didn't know how to make it go away again.

"I don't know," Don admitted. He felt desperate to do better than this, to give those searching eyes something in return, something to hold onto. "Wrong place at the wrong time, I guess."

He pressed his lips together. His reply sounded harsh to his own ears and merciless. Strangely however, Charlie seemed to be content with it. He was nodding slowly, and for a moment, Don thought he'd finally done something right. It was only a moment though, one moment before his brother was overcome by the tears again.

Don felt his heart bleeding, he felt the thick droplets fall into his guts and create a pool of leaden misery that was making him sick. He was desperate to say something, to finally find the right words, to find the holy grail that would make his brother and his own heart become whole again.

Before he had found the right words, Charlie had found a question to ask, but it was the wrong one, for it wasn't adequate to heal their pain, only to create more.

"Why can't I deal with this?"

Don, again, swallowed thickly, feverishly searching his mind for the answer. He knew the answer, it was obvious. The reason why his brother had so much difficulty dealing with what had happened to him was because he had suffered a serious trauma. His soul, his self had been hurt so severely that there was bound to be lasting damage, maybe permanent damage, in any case a kind of injury that wouldn't just heal over night.

That, however, was something he could never say out loud. Hearing how broken he'd become wasn't going to help Charlie, it was only going to crush him, and that was something Don could never let happen.

Instead, he needed to take the opposite route. He needed to focus not on what was broken, but on how he could repair the damage.

His mind jumped back to that moment a few days ago, when they'd arrested the group of people smugglers, when they'd arrested the man who had attacked him that night. It had made this better, it had given him closure, so chances were that it would give his brother closure as well, that this was the answer he'd been looking for.

"We're gonna get this guy," Don said. He noticed he was talking a little too fast, a little too feverishly, so he made an effort to give his voice a steady, determined tone, "I promise you that."

Charlie was looking up at him then, but the hope that Don had wanted to see on his face was hardly recognizable, it was repressed by the other emotions, by negative ones, by confusion and, above all, by fear.

"You can't," Charlie said, but it sounded a little like a question. "You can't investigate this case, you're personally involved."

Don shook his head. Now that he had found something to do, now that he had found what he _needed_ to do, nothing was going to stop him, certainly no bureaucratic rules. "I don't care."

Instead of the hope on Charlie's face increasing and the fear lessening, his emotions chose the other way round, and Don felt his helplessness grow. Why wasn't it working? Why was he making things worse instead of better?

"You're scaring me," Charlie whispered, giving him an answer that he needed, but didn't want to hear.

"It's gonna make it better, Charlie, you'll see," Don went on with an increased sense of urgency. "I'll make sure he'll never hurt anyone again. And I'll make sure he'll pay for what he did to you."

His voice had become a little unsteady at his last words, as though his mind had been trying to stop him from uttering them. This was what he needed to do though, he could feel it, he could feel it in the burning of his guts. He felt the nerves in his body fire in the thrill of grim pleasure he felt imagining to bring this to an end, to make the pain for his brother stop by restoring order to the world, by giving that perverted monster what he deserved. He imagined apprehending him in a dark alley with no way out, just like that thug had done to his victims, and then he'd explain to him why he was doing this, he'd give him the opinion of the court, and then, he would carry out the sentence by putting a bullet in his brain.

He noticed Charlie's stare that was penetrating him as though he could see the scenes playing out in Don's mental cinema, and all of a sudden, he felt dizzy and not quite like himself and his mind was telling him to stop for a minute and think, but he could _feel_ that it was what he needed to do, his guts were telling him to do it, shouting at him to do it to stop the burning pain and put and end to it once and for all, quick and efficient.

"You can't investigate this case," Charlie insisted, still whispering, yet still the fear in his voice was almost palpable. But only when Charlie went on did Don understand what his brother's fear was truly directed at, "I don't want you to kill anyone because of me."

 _But he deserves it!_ , Don meant to object. And yet… Deserving or not, he knew he couldn't do that. He would, there was no doubt in his mind that he would do that for his brother if it was what it would take, but… it wasn't. Taking revenge wasn't the solution, it wasn't the magic cure that Don had envisioned it to be, and he knew it, he'd seen it countless times in his career. Taking this man's life would simply be something he'd had to put on his conscience and while it might give him instant gratification, while it was so easy to just take the monster out, it wouldn't solve the problem, it would just aggravate it. What they were fighting to do every day, what Charlie wanted him to do, was stop the spiral of violence, not continue it.

As the realization was settling in, Don felt his helplessness grow again, and for a moment, he wished his mind would just shut up and let him go through with this and let him take the easy path instead of the right one, because at this moment, lashing out at this monster in rage would have been so much easier than watching his brother's pain.

* * *

"We're _what?!_ " Megan exclaimed and looked at him in incredulity.

"We're off the case," Don repeated. He seemed very quiet on the one hand, but on the other hand, she thought she could hear a slight tremble in his voice. What on earth was going on?

"I just cleared it with the A.D.," Don continued. "Colin Harding and his team are going to take over, we are to send them everything we gathered so far."

"But why?" Megan asked. This wasn't making any sense. She had literally just now returned from talking to the sister of Anthony Cunningham, their first murder victim. The sister, Jessica, hadn't been able to provide them with a lot more details than were already in the files, but she had readily weighed in with her opinion about the investigation so far, and it had been easily detectable that the months since here brother's death hadn't made her a fan of the police force. It had been the kind of interview that Megan hated, because it made her feel so helpless and inadequate, just like it had been when her friend had been raped in college. Then, she had blamed herself for looking away, but now, her actions seemed even worse to her, because while talking to Anthony's sister, it seemed that all she had accomplished had been ripping open old wounds. Maybe that was what had prompted her to do what she never did, because they never made those kind of pledges, but she had, she had promised Jessica that they would do anything to apprehend the man that had done this to her brother.

And now this.

"I can't tell you why, I'm sorry," Don said and didn't even look them in the eye, "but the decision is made, so we should simply focus on the drug cartel again. Let's meet back here after lunch."

Before either of them could say another word, Don had taken flight and was striding quickly towards the elevators.

"Don!" Megan called out after him, almost laughing at the strange scene. She felt as though the world had stopped making sense.

She was about to follow him when Colby held her back. "Don't. Let him go."

She turned around to face him, thinking that they were apparently all losing their minds, but when she saw the serious expression on his face, she paused. "What's going on?"

"We don't know," Colby admitted, "but something definitely is. Charlie was here to tell him something and when he had… they were both pretty upset. I don't know what it was he told him, but it must have been bad, like really bad."

Megan frowned and looked after Don, even though the elevators had already swallowed him up. If something was wrong, then why wouldn't Don tell them? They were a team, right? So they needed to tell each other if something was wrong, right?

"Crap," David's soft curse made her turn around again, and when he just kept staring at his computer screen, she and Colby rounded the desk to be able to peer over his shoulder.

She drew in air, sharply. Then her hand wandered up to her mouth as though she was trying to keep in the contents of her stomach.

"Where did you get this?" she asked as her eyes darted across the screen, from Charlie's picture to the information listed in neat, speckless lines of gruesome bureaucratic soberness. There had to be a mistake somewhere, she had to be jumping to conclusions, for this couldn't be a real report.

"I had a hunch," David said and sounded as though he didn't believe what his eyes presented to him either. "I just thought… but I never would have thought to actually find something." He looked up at his two colleagues. "How… I mean, what do we do now?"

Colby was silent, still looking at the screen as though he was still waiting for it to flash a sign that said, _Fooled ya!_ But it didn't. All that it showed was the details of their friend's rape.

"We need to talk to him," Megan said, her mind still reeling with the information her mind was struggling to absorb. "We need to make it clear to him that we're there for him, no matter what."

David shook his head. "We can't. He'd be mortified if he knew we found out about this."

"So what, you want to keep this from him? You want to pretend we just don't know? That would never work. And it wouldn't be fair to him."

"Look, I didn't say it would be easy," David admitted. "But you should have seen him earlier. He doesn't want anyone to know that something's wrong. I think we should respect that."

"Well, we didn't," Megan stated with a nod towards the screen. Yet she knew that David had a point. They could tell Charlie all they wanted that it didn't make a difference, that they still saw him the same way as before and that they still respected the hell out of him. In the end, it was still Charlie who needed to be able to stand there in front of them and talk about hot zones and data flows while they all knew what had happened to him.

"What do you say?" she asked Colby, who finally took his eyes from the screen.

"I say we wait," he told them. "I don't think we'll see Charlie again today. Let's decide tomorrow when we've all had some time to think."

Megan pressed her lips together and eventually agreed, thinking how strange it was to see the look of insecurity in the former soldier's eyes. It hit her how curious it was that they would successfully hunt rapists and murderers as their source of income, but that they were at their wits' end when they were confronted with the task of actually helping the victim of such a crime.

* * *

Charlie still wasn't feeling quite right when he stepped off the elevator the next day, aiming for Don's cubicle. Still, he was feeling a lot better than he would have expected. Granted, however, his expectations had been pretty low to begin with, since he just came from his witness interview with Agent Harding's team. It hadn't been as bad as he would have thought, and it hadn't been as bad as when he'd filed the report with the LAPD. The agent that had conducted the interview with him had somehow managed to find just the right balance between sympathy and professionalism, and that had helped him a lot to answer their questions without losing it.

It also helped that he didn't have to face any revelations today. Don already knew, that was dealt with. True, Charlie still didn't know how exactly he was supposed to handle the fact that his brother knew everything now and neither did he know how this was going to affect their relationship, but that was another problem.

"Charlie, hey!" he was greeted by David and as he tried to recover from the surprise attack, it occurred to him that this was a bit like a déjà vu. "Don's really sorry, but he got called away for another meeting. He said you'd drop by to pick him up though and he asks you to just wait here for a couple of minutes, if that's okay for you."

"Oh," Charlie said, not very intelligently. "Okay."

In spite of himself, he found himself confronted with the question if maybe, Don had ditched him on purpose. He just didn't know where they were standing anymore. Yesterday, when he'd been about to tell him, he'd been hoping so much that Don would be there for him and support him through all this and at the same time, he'd been just as afraid that he would turn away from him. When Don had bolted from the room, those fears had come true, and for a while, he'd been convinced that there was indeed something wrong with him, that there was something despicable and dirty about him that didn't allow the other people, the pure, unraped ones, to run the risk of staining themselves by coming too close to him. True, Don had come back, he'd entered that risk, but the nagging doubt in Charlie that his big brother would have preferred to just scratch him and the dirty stain he represented out of his life hadn't left completely.

He'd spent the rest of the day with Amita, his safe haven, where he hadn't needed to put on an act or to confront his brother again or, even worse, run the risk of unwillingly imposing on him. Then, however, Don had reached out to him on his own account and asked him to meet him for lunch when he'd be done with his witness interview. As pleased and relieved as Charlie had felt because of the offer, he still didn't know what to think about the fact that Don had known when he would have that appointment – even though Charlie hadn't told him.

"Why don't you sit until he arrives?"

Charlie, jolted out of his thoughts, turned back to look at David. He frowned. Something wasn't right with David. He seemed more nervous than usual, and he was looking at him as though he was afraid of him somehow.

Suddenly scared, yet still unwilling to believe his fears about what that look might mean, Charlie turned towards Megan and Colby. Their expressions weren't as easy to read as David's, but there too Charlie was sure he could see a certain inhibition. For a moment, he hesitated, he didn't want to confirm their doubts or strengthen their beliefs that there was indeed something wrong with him, but in the end, he couldn't hold back any longer. "What are you looking at?"

He realized that the words came out more aggressive than he'd planned and he swallowed uneasily. This wasn't going well. If they hadn't suspected anything before, they certainly did now.

They were all closing in on him, steering him further into Don's cubicle in which he was still standing and he was filled with a sudden sensation of panic and claustrophobia. They were blocking the entrance, they were confining him in this cage.

"Charlie..." Megan said in a voice that was so soft and so wrong that he felt his throat close up. "We know what happened."

He shook his head, unwilling to believe that this was happening. But as long as he didn't admit to it, it wasn't happening, right? "What are you talking about?"

"About the rape."

Charlie felt a shiver run down his spine. His eyes had shifted to Colby when he'd said the words and he was still taken in by those green eyes that today seemed so deep like the ocean, it was a depth that might have calmed him down under different circumstances, but that right now, only induced fear in him.

"Hey Charlie, I'm so sorry, I hadn't known about that meeting beforehand."

The small circle that had been blocking Charlie's exit – well, more of a line really – opened up, but he still couldn't get out, because now, there was Don. He was looking from one to another, trying to figure out what was going on. "Everything alright?"

Charlie bit his lip and told himself not to give in to his emotions, not to let the hurt and disappointment overcome him. "What did you tell them?"

The look in Don's eyes was the same as yesterday when Charlie had left his office, bespeaking a sorrow and worry that seemed to tell him that he could trust those eyes, just like the voice did. "Nothing. I just told them we're off the case."

"You're lying!" Charlie exclaimed. He was unable to hold himself back, not when those eyes were still looking at him with their fake sympathy, still betraying him, laughing at him. "You told them! You –"

"Charlie, relax!" Colby interrupted him firmly. "Don didn't tell us anything. David had a hunch and we found the report."

Charlie felt as though he was losing the ground beneath his feet. His gaze was shifting from Colby's stern face with those deep green eyes to David's flickering ones, then back to Don, then back to the team. "But you were off the case," he argued faintly, but as his desperation grew, so did his anger. "You were off the case! You had no right to poke around!"

"Charlie..." David started and looked as though he was going to apologize, but Charlie had stopped caring. Sorry or not, they couldn't change what they had done, they couldn't un-know what they had learned, they couldn't take back this second violation.

"Let me go," he said and didn't care that he had to break through their line, all he needed was to get away, to go some place where there were no people and no stares and no apologies.

"Charlie!"

He jerked out of Don's grip and kept going, away, aware that he was running from this confrontation in a most childish way, but finding it beyond his power to stop. He could hear Don follow him and part of him wanted him to, he wanted to face them and deal with this, but he knew that he couldn't. He just wasn't strong enough. He was weak, he was a wuss that couldn't just pull himself together when times got a little rough, he –

"Charlie."

Charlie blinked and only now became aware that he was in the stairwell, though in which floor, he couldn't say. He felt that his eyes were moist and he wanted to go on to keep that fact from his brother, but he found that he had no strength left to continue his flight, just like he had no strength left to free his arm from Don's grip once more.

And so, he surrendered. He let Don take him in his arms, he was standing there drinking from the comfort of being held despite the knowledge that there was something impure about him, something that made him an outcast. At the same time, he was despising that spineless wimp that just stood there, letting himself be consoled like a child when instead, he should be facing his problems like a man.

"Could we talk about this more quietly?" he heard Don ask softly.

Charlie shrugged and swallowed to give his voice a more determined, more matter-of-fact tone. "I don't think so. You just saw how I ran off like some crazy teenager."

"You were upset," Don said as if that could have justified his behavior.

He stepped back, thereby freeing himself, standing again like a man, yet still failing to understand. "But why? I mean, I get that they just wanted to help, it's not like I don't get that. So why can't I just say 'thank you' and leave it at that?"

"Because this is a difficult time."

Charlie turned around and looked heavenwards, but only saw the white ceiling that was starting to need some new plaster in the corners. He knew this was a difficult time. What he wanted to know was how he could make it through this 'difficult time'. And why he wasn't able to make it through it.

He felt his legs tremble and let himself lower on the steps, resting his hands in his face. G-d, he was tired. It felt like he'd been tired for ages. Certainly tired since that night. Maybe it was that? Maybe he was simply lacking the energy to pull himself through this? Maybe one good night's sleep was going to make this finally go away?

He felt Don sit down beside him and it was as though the movement made his bubble of false hope burst into nothingness. This wasn't going to just go away. And in the meanwhile, he was acting out like some… Charlie didn't even know, he didn't find a comparison that suited him. It felt like he was the only one unable to conform to society's rules.

"You shouldn't worry about the team," Don continued. "They understand."

Charlie gave a joyless laugh. They certainly hadn't looked like they understood. True, they hadn't seemed upset or angry, something that Charlie would have been able to empathize with only too well, but still… they hadn't really seemed like they actually _understood_. Maybe like they were trying to understand. Trying, yet failing, for there had been a nervousness and insecurity about them that Charlie hadn't known before, like they were afraid of making him bolt or lash out or crack.

And yet, Don claimed they understood.

"You're so sure about that." There was a healthy amount of skepticism in Charlie's words, but also a glimmer of hope.

"I am," Don said firmly, and Charlie felt his hope grow. Maybe he didn't fit in this society anymore, so maybe he could not only trust his brother's insight, but maybe trusting his judgment was what he _had_ to do, because in contrast to himself, Don was still part of them?

Still, he had to make sure. "Why?"

"Because we're a team," Don explained patiently. "You're part of this team, so we won't let you down, whatever happens."

Charlie looked at him, trying to decipher whether Don was telling the truth or merely trying to calm him down. But that wouldn't really make sense, would it? Why would he want him to calm down just to bring him back out into the world outside this stairwell when the world outside wasn't the place that Don claimed it to be, a place that could incorporate him again?

"Charlie..." Don started again and Charlie felt his fear grow again as he watched him lick his lips. If Don was afraid of whatever he was about to say, then how scared did he himself need to be? "Yesterday, you asked me why you had such a hard time dealing with this, and I didn't have a good answer. I'm still not sure I do, but I want to tell you what I think the _right_ answer is. I think the reason you're having so much trouble dealing with this is because it _is_ hard to deal with this. I didn't want to say that yesterday, because I didn't think it was something very helpful to say. And that's what I want to do, I want to help you, and that's what Megan and David and Colby want to do. But I've come to think that it's that what makes the difference. What happened to you was bad, and none of us can change that, but what we _can_ do is pulling the carpet from under all the pain that isn't inevitable. By making it clear to you that there's no reason to be ashamed. By not abandoning you when you need us. By being there for you when you're feeling alone or need someone to talk to."

He let the words sink in for a minute before he went on, "I know that whatever that asshole did to you, he did it to _you,_ and there's nothing we can do to take that off of you. But we can make sure you're not alone in all this, and I… I think this should be worth at least something."

Charlie was shaking his head, wiping his eyes. Why was Don doing this? Why were they _all_ doing this? He had done nothing to deserve this. Ever since the attack, he'd been standing beside himself, he'd been putting them off, first Amita, then Don, now the team… He'd been so self-absorbed this whole time, and instead of turning their backs on him, they were giving into his needs, they were still prepared to be there for him despite everything, or at least so Don claimed.

"I don't deserve this."

It had only been a whisper, for he _wanted_ to embrace their offer, he _wanted_ their help, but he was afraid to accept it.

"You do," Don contradicted and put his arm around him, holding him close.

 _Why would I?_ , Charlie felt like asking, but didn't dare to.

But apparently, Don had still heard him, for he went on, "Because we care about you." His voice was soft and tender, and it remained that way when he added, "And if you question that one more time, I'm gonna punch you in the face."

The threat came so sudden and unexpected that Charlie couldn't help but break out into a quiet laughter. A moment later, he wiped the moisture from his eyes.

"Now that's what I'm talking about," Don said and Charlie could hear from his voice that he was smiling, obviously content with his achievement. And Charlie had to admit, he was, too. Yes, he was still hurting, he was still sitting on the hard steps of a hardly used stairwell because he'd run off from a confrontation, but in the end, at the very bottom, nothing had changed since that night. He still had friends he could trust, and he could still rely on his brother to have his back and remind him of what it was like to have a good time.

He was looking up at him and saw the serious, tender look in his eyes that made his throat constrict so much that he had trouble getting the word out, even though it was only one short syllable, "Jerk."

And yet, judging from Don's smile and from the look in his eyes, he was sure that his brother understood him, and that he'd also understood what he'd really meant to say, _Thank you._

\- finis -


End file.
